


Where lies the final harbor?

by MissSlothy



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Boys In Love, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Happy Ending, Grief/Mourning, Injury, Love, M/M, Plans For The Future, Post-Episode: S10e07 Ka 'i'o (DNA), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2020-05-02
Packaged: 2021-02-07 19:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 48,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21463564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissSlothy/pseuds/MissSlothy
Summary: Steve and Danny had finally admitted their feelings for each other just three days before the events of Season 10 Episode 7.  Can their new relationship survive the fallout from what happened in Mexico and Doris's death?
Relationships: Steve McGarrett/Danny "Danno" Williams
Comments: 261
Kudos: 424





	1. Steve

**Author's Note:**

  * For [imaginary_iby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/imaginary_iby/gifts), [RacoonSA](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RacoonSA/gifts).

> Thanks go to Iby and Racoon SA for enabling this story idea. It was originally going to be one chapter but now it's turned into a multi-chapter winter writing project. I'm very excited :):):) 
> 
> The only episode of season 10 I've seen is 7 and I won't see the other episodes until next year. So, the story starts off where that episode finishes but it deviates from canon from then on.

Steve stares at the shelves in front of him. He’s standing in the pharmacy section of 24-hour grocery store. He blinks rapidly, trying to focus. He’s tired – beyond tired – and his eyes feel gritty. Every time he closes them, they flick open again like his eyelids are spring-loaded. His mind is sluggish, stuck in blurred loop of painful memories.

“You okay back there, buddy?”

His body jerks, dragging him back to the present. Pain spikes through his injured shoulder. Heart-rate rising, he turns towards the voice. The cashier at the front of the store glares back at him. Then he deliberately drops his gaze to Steve’s hands. 

“You buying those or you gonna stand here all night?”

Steve follows his gaze. He’s holding a pack beers with his bad arm. In his good hand he’s got disposable razors and a pair of scissors.

“Hey, buddy. You listening to me?”

He stares at the razors and scissors. He weighs them in his hands. His heart beat ramps up some more. _Not weapons, _a small voice in his head reminds him. _They could be, _a louder voice cuts in.

“Jesus. Are you high?”

He blinks. The store comes back into focus. He frowns as he realises he’s standing by the counter. The cashier is an arms-length away from him. His expression says he wishes it were much further away. 

“Just pay and get out, okay?” The cashier sounds afraid.

Steve blinks again: his mind’s gone into fight mode. Instinctively he swings round, trying to identify the threat. The store’s empty. Through the front door he can see it’s dark outside. The sidewalk is glittering with rain. He shivers. He’s cold. His mind registers that as an anomaly: it’s never this cold at night in Hawaii.

“Where are we?” He doesn’t recognise his own voice: it sounds thick and rough. 

The cashier moves, stumbling backwards. “Washington. What the fuck is wrong with you? Take everything. Go.”

_Washington. Danny. Mom._

The world around him stops, reduces to a pinpoint. A wave of grief hits him. Nausea burns at the back of his throat. Something clatters to the floor.

It’s the scissors. They’re unwrapped. The blade is shiny under the glowing lights.

He grabs them, stuffs them in his back pocket. Fumbling, he pulls out his wallet. Blindly, he throws some notes on the counter. Stuffing the razors in his sling, he jams the beers under his good arm and leaves the store. 

Cold air hits him as he steps outside. It feels damp against his skin. He checks left, then right: the sidewalk’s empty. Traffic’s light, mostly cabs and delivery trucks. Huddling down into himself he starts walking. 

_‘Thank you for your past and present service to our country…’_

Anger flares, deep in his chest. Shaking his head, he tries to dislodge the mental image of the letter from the State Department. He’s read it so many times though, it’s embedded. Every time the words cut through him, a stark reminder of what he did. 

He failed.

They sent him to extract his Mom. To save her. To bring her back to Hawaii, to her family. Instead he’d escorted her body back to Washington. He’s not even sure right now where she is.

The thought makes him stumble to a halt. She’s alone somewhere. She should have her family with her. Panic bubbles up inside his chest, making his breath catch.

“Steve! Steve!”

The shout’s come from behind. Quickly, he turns. Too quickly: the beers slip, jolting his gunshot wound. Pain makes his eyes water.

“Hey, careful, babe. Give me those.”

Before he can argue the beers are taken from him. That leaves him a free hand to rub at his eyes. As the world comes into focus it reveals Danny standing in front of him. Blinking slowly, he nudges his brain back into action. Gradually, the cogs start to turn. “What are you doing here?”

Danny rests the beers on his hip. He stares down at it, chewing on his lip. He’s wearing a white-shirt, sleep shorts and his boots. His jacket’s been slung over the top. The collar’s sticking up at weird angles, mirroring his ruffled hair. “What am I doing here?”

Steve considers that. The cogs in his brain creak some more. “Yeah.”

Danny glances away. He runs his hand over his hair, smoothing it down. He looks back. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “You left.” 

_Without me. Again._

The words hang in the heavy silence between them. Unspoken, but as loud as a scream.

Steve stares at his feet. He’s let down Danny, he knows that. The nausea’s back as his gut twists with disappointment. Those few days they’d had together before the CIA had arrived had been some of the best of his life. He’s failed at that too.

“What are you doing out here, huh?”

He has to strain to hear Danny’s voice over the passing traffic. It’s gone soft, gentle. It stirs something inside him he’s been fighting to contain, ever since he’d let go of his Mom’s hand. He swallows hard, struggling for control. “I went to the store.”

“I can see that.” Danny takes a slow stop forward. He reaches out, then stops, his hand hovering just inches away. “You know you got scissors in your back pocket, right?”

Steve reaches round, pulls them out, stares at them. He’s vaguely aware of Danny tensing, his shoulders coming up like he’s bracing for a blow. It crosses his mind that maybe he should say something. But he’s still trying to remember why he came to the store.

“Couldn’t sleep,” he mumbles to himself as much as to Danny. His brain wouldn’t shut up. Beside him, in bed, Danny had looked exhausted, even in sleep. He’d watched him for a while, trying to remember what their time together had felt like: the excitement, the desire, the love. It had eluded him though, in the grief-filled darkness. So he’d got out of bed and gone to the bathroom.

“I was going to shave my beard,” he explains, slowly, running it back through his head. “I figured I should get rid of it before…before I see Mary…but I didn’t have…” Words fail him: they’re getting clogged up in his throat. He’s grateful when Danny gently takes the scissors from him, then wraps his hand around his own.

Danny sighs. He sounds bone-weary and sad. “So you came to the store to buy a pair of scissors.”

“Yeah. And razors.”

“Razors too, huh?” Danny bobs his head, a tiny but familiar gesture. His quirks his lips in a barely-there smile. “And the beer? You gonna use that to get rid of your beard too? This some top-secret Navy technique I don’t know about?”

He pauses, thinking that over. “No. I was going to drink it.”

“Right.” Danny looks down at the beer, his forehead furrowing. The smile has disappeared. “Right. That’s a great idea. We should do that. Drink more beer.”

Danny’s tone of voice is telling him something is wrong but he can’t place it. Danny’s grip is surprisingly tight, suddenly. Adrenaline makes his synapses fire. Instinctively he tries to pull away his hand. “Hey. I can get back to the hotel on my own—”

“It’s in the other direction, Steve.”

Danny’s tone is sharp, worried. It’s cuts through the fog in his mind. “What?”

“You were walking in the wrong direction.”

“No I wasn’t…” He trails off, looks around him. He’s got no idea where he is. A shiver slides down his spine. “Danny—”

“We’re two blocks away,” Danny explains, his voice gentle unlike the grip he has on his hand. ”Come on. I don’t know about you but I’m cold.”

He follows, his feet dragging along. Exhaustion is creeping in. “You should have put your pants on.”

The grip on his hand tightens even more.

“Thanks for the advice. I’ll remember that next time I wake up and find you’ve gone missing.”

“I wasn’t missing. I was—”

“—at the store. Yeah. I get that.”

Suddenly he feels very small. “I’m sorry.”

Danny’s shoulder bumps into his. “I know, babe. I know.”

The rest of the walk back to the hotel passes in a blur. They’re both shivering by the time they get there. He lets Danny nudge him into the elevator. He waits for Danny to choose the floor. As the doors closes and the elevator rises he stares at himself in the polished-steel doors. Someone with dark, shuttered eyes stares back at him. Beside him Danny is still, unnaturally so. His face is expressionless. But his eyes are full of emotion: tiredness, worry and fear.

Steve’s stomach plummets. All of this is his fault. He screwed up, made the wrong judgement call.

The elevator shudders to a halt before he can say anything. Danny’s hand rests lightly at the base of his spine, guiding him to their room. For a moment he’s reminded of another time, eight weeks earlier, when Danny’s hand had rested there against his naked skin. They’d been in Danny’s bed, lightly dozing, their bodies intertwined, sweaty and sated. They’d only been together for less than forty-eight hours, still discovering each other and this new relationship. But as Danny had curled in closer to him, he’d never felt so sure of anything.

The summons from the CIA had come the following day.

Danny tugging at arm brings him back to the present. Danny’s telling him to sit down, he realises. He grunts as his knees fold and he slumps onto the bed. He’s got no energy left.

“You need to warm up,” Danny’s saying, holding out a towel in front of him.

He dips his head in consent. He shivers as the towel touches his bare arm. He’s only wearing a tee-shirt, he suddenly notices. His sweater is still on the floor where he dropped it before going to bed. He can’t remember leaving the room. “How did I get …” he starts, then frowns. His shoe laces are undone. The belt on his jeans is unbuckled too.

“Shhh.” 

Danny carries on rubbing. Over his chest, down his shoulders, over his head. So much care. His eyes burn with emotion. He doesn’t deserve this, not one little bit.

“Stop thinking,” Danny says quietly as he pulls the bed covers back. “There’s gonna be plenty of time for that later.”

He tries. He tries as he awkwardly pulls the rest of his clothes off. He keeps trying as Danny carefully removes the sling, then settles him in bed with extra pillows for support. When Danny stretches out beside him, radiating strength and warmth, he reminds himself he’s safe. He’s not alone anymore. But as he stares up into the darkness the memories keep coming. Sharp. Fast. Each one a stab of pain.

“I’m tired.”

He doesn’t realise he’s spoken. Then Danny rolls over to face him. Their faces are just inches apart. In a blink he’s back in Hawaii, in Danny’s bed. There’s sunlight coming through the curtains, the birds are singing outside. Danny’s grinning at him, a huge grin that reaches his eyes. He leans in for a kiss and…

In a blink it’s dark again. He’s back in Washington. There’s a gap in the curtains, letting in the soft glow of the street lights outside. It’s just enough illumination for him to see the flash of disappointment that crosses Danny’s face.

“Danny. I don’t know if I can…us—”

“Go to sleep, babe,” Danny cuts in, pulling the covers up higher over both of them. His voice turns muffled as he ducks under the sheets. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Okay.” Closing his eyes, he lets the protective cocoon of bed covers that Danny’s created claim him. “Tomorrow.”

To be continued…


	2. Danny

_Danny dozes. He feels like he’s floating, caught half-way between sleep and consciousness. Birds singing outside and waves lapping against the beach provide a soothing sound track. The bed sheets are pushed down to his belly button but he’s not cold. Steve’s draped across him, long muscled limbs pinning him to the bed. It’s like being warmed with a human blanket._

_‘Possessive’ he thinks vaguely, shifting to get comfortable. ‘Goof’, he adds, as Steve shifts to move with him, despite being fast asleep. _

_Steve’s head is resting on his shoulder. Every time Steve breathes, the puff of warm air tickles his skin. Steve’s hair smells faintly of coconut. But mostly the room smells of sweat and sex._

_His libido stirs, desire pooling in the pit of his belly. It threatens to drag him awake. He quashes it – reluctantly. Neither of them have had much sleep. _

_It’s been less than 24 hours since they’d argued about Steve’s attempts at dating, about his – Danny’s – push to find him a girlfriend. What had started as a normal argument had quickly turned into a heated, passionate fight – the type that led to painful secrets being shared. Breathing hard, they’d stared at each other in shock. Then suddenly they were in each other’s space, touching, tugging, holding on like two men being swept away in a storm._

_They haven’t let go of each other since._

_They’re both out of practice. He hasn’t had sex with a man since before Rachel. He hasn’t asked Steve how long it’s been but he can tell it’s been a while. They were both nervous to start with: they know there’s a lot riding on this. But it turns out that learning about their bodies together is a hell of an aphrodisiac. That and the laughter: they both laugh a lot in bed._

_There’s something bubbling deep in his chest. Opening his eyes, he frowns. For a second he thinks its indigestion. Then it hits him and he grins. He feels happy._

“Danny? Shower’s free.”

The dream shatters. He opens his eyes. Reality comes rushing in.

He’s sitting on the couch in the hotel room in Washington. Through the window, he can see the sun rising. Steve’s standing in front of him. He’s just come out of the shower. He’s naked apart from a towel wrapped around his waist.

Steve frowns at him. “You okay?”

He swallows down the first words that occur to him. He wants to tell Steve that he’s lost weight. He wants to reach out and touch the bruises that litter Steve’s torso. He wants to kiss and tell him that everything will be alright. “I’m good,” he says, instead.

“’Kay” Steve replies, his expression distracted.

He schools his own expression to neutral. His heart is aching with the need to offer comfort but he knows it won’t be welcome. Steve’s barriers are up. The man he shared a bed with eight weeks ago – the man he’d been dreaming about – is missing. In his place is a man who hit’s the limit of his endurance and is fighting to hide his pain.

Clearing his throat, he gets to his feet. He studies Steve’s face. His fingers twitch with the need to touch. “You didn’t shave,” he says, not trusting himself with more than a few words.

Steve shrugs. He waves his good hand vaguely at his injured shoulder. The wound is bare. It’s raw and angry-looking.

_Your shoulder hurts. You can’t shave one-handed, _Danny translates silently. “You taken your meds, babe?”

Steve turns his back. The wound looks as bad at the back. He leans down to pick up his sweater from the floor. His movements are stiff and painful. “Can’t take them on an empty stomach,” he mutters, wincing as he stands upright.

_Breakfast. Right. _His stomach rubbles its approval: he hasn’t eaten since the flight the day before. Glancing around the room he guesses Steve hasn’t either: beer doesn’t count.

Going out for food feels like a monumental effort though. Sleep had eluded him after they’d got back to the hotel. He’d been too focused on listening to Steve’s breathing, on checking he wasn’t about to run. Steve had managed to leave without him noticing because he’d been exhausted after the flight to Washington. He wasn’t going to make that mistake again.

Gathering every last bit of energy, he smiles. “Breakfast,” he announces, clapping his hands. “Then you can take your meds. First though, we gotta look after your shoulder.” Not waiting for an answer, he retrieves Steve’s first aid supplies from the bathroom. There’s hardly anything left. Heart-sinking, he adds another trip to the convenience store to his rapidly growing to-do list. 

He spreads the medical supplies on the bed. Standing back, he considers his next move. Steve’s still staring at the pullover in his hand like it’s a ticking bomb. _Slow and easy _he reminds himself. _Let Steve take this at his own pace._

Eventually Steve looks at him. His gaze travels across the bed. “I can do it,” he complains but sits on the edge of the bed anyway. 

_I’ll take that as a ‘yes’. _Carefully, he perches on the edge of the bed, behind Steve. Grabbing the supplies, he prepares the dressing. His stomach roils: the wound looks worse up close. He chides himself – its not the first time he’s seen a gunshot wound. But he knows that’s not what’s upset him. It’s the way Steve’s whole body tensed as he sat behind him.

Despite that, he rests his hand next to the wound for a moment. Steve’s body feels solid and warm, just how he remembers it. Blinking hard, he pulls his hand away and stands.

“Okay. Lets do the other one.”

His voice sounds rough to his own ears. Retrieving the other dressing, he sits in front of Steve. The angle’s awkward – they’re half-facing each other – but he can’t see Steve’s face anyway; he’s still got his head down.

“Steve,” he breathes, unable to stop himself from reacting this time. He feels like his heart’s being crushed: the man he loves is radiating misery. It’s like something has sucked all the energy and joy out of him. _Doris, _an angry voice in his head reminds him. _This is Doris’s fault. _He dismisses it. He’ll have time to be angry later. Instead he gently taps Steve on the knee to get his attention. “You remember the last thing I said before you left to get your Mom?”

Steve looks away, stares at the window. His breathing is ragged. His hands are curled into fists.

“Yeah,” he carries on, willing his hands not to shake as he applies the second dressing, “I said I’d be waiting for you when you got back.” He swallows against the lump in his throat. There’s so much he wants to say but right now only one of them is important. “I’m not leaving you.”

Steve jerks up his chin. He still doesn’t look back. “You can’t promise that.”

He wraps his hands around Steve’s, holding tight as he tries to pull away. They’re having this conversation. _Now. _“As long as I’m breathing, babe.” Steve’s breath hitches. It spurs him on. “You and me. I’m gonna be standing beside you, making your life hell.”

Steve snorts. He drags his hand away, scrubs it across his face. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. Finally, he turns. He fixes his gaze on a point over Danny’s shoulder. Lips pursed, he rubs his nose. “I…I don’t know what to do, Danny.”

He forces himself to smile slightly as he claims back both of Steve’s hands. The pain in Steve’s eyes is killing him inside. But now isn’t the time to let it show. “Lucky for you I do.” One corner of Steve’s mouth twitches up. It’s barely there but it’s a start. “You eat. You sleep. And the rest of the time you put one foot in front of the other and take each day as it comes.”

Steve meets his eyes. He frowns. “Didn’t I say that to you after Matt died?”

He closes his eyes as the memories rush back. Steve had hitched them a ride back Stateside on a military transport plane. Much of the trip is a blur. The one thing he can remember is Steve sitting next to him, never leaving his side. “You did. And you were right.”

“Danny—”

Impulse takes over. Opening his eyes he holds Steve’s gaze. Raising Steve’s hand, he brushes his lips across his knuckles. It’s a selfish move but he _needs_ the contact. Taking a breath, he pulls back. “You think you can do that for me, Steve?”

Steve’s eyes flutter closed, shutting him out. For a second he thinks he’s pushed too hard. His heart stutters. He feels like he’s teetering on the edge of a precipice. Then Steve opens his eyes again. They are dark with pain but there’s something else too. 

Determination.

“Yes. I can do that.”

H50H50H50

Finding somewhere for breakfast is easy: they’d passed a diner during their midnight walk around Washington. Danny’s stomach rubbles in anticipation as they wait to be seated. There are huge plates of food being taken past them. Despite his tiredness he suddenly feels hungry.

Steve’s standing beside him. He’s wearing a tatty jacket that looks like it’s been in a fight. He’s got his good hand stuffed in his jeans pocket, his shoulders are hunkered up around his ears. His face looks pale against his beard. His hair’s still damp and sticking up in all directions. His eyes are flickering everywhere as he surveys his surroundings.

A server shows them to a table. It’s in the middle of the restaurant. Danny thanks her, pulls out a chair. But as he goes to sit down his heart rate shoots up: Steve’s not behind him. He’s darted away, between the tables. 

“Sorry,” he says to the server, as he heads off in pursuit. His first thought is that Steve’s making a run for the exit. Then Steve halts and sits at another table.

The other table has dirty plates on it. The server pushes past him to clear it. He waits until she’s gone before sitting down. His heart’s thudding like he’s run a marathon. He opens his mouth to ask Steve: _What the hell? _ Then he looks around and realises the new table is the best vantage point in the whole restaurant.

He slumps in his chair. Grabbing a menu he pretends to read it. “Give a guy some warning, huh?”

Across from him, Steve grabs a menu too. He scans it, puts it back, goes back to monitoring the restaurant and its customers again.

_Fine. _Silence falls between them. It’s uncomfortable, almost painful. The reappearance of the server is a welcome relief.“Steve? What do you want?”

Steve blinks, as if suddenly seeing his surroundings. Retrieving the menu, he frowns at it. “I don’t know.”

Sighing inwardly, he smiles at the server. “Omelette and pancakes for both of us. And coffee. Lots of it.” He waits for the server to leave. Leaning across the table top he takes the menu from Steve. He wraps his fingers around Steve’s before he can pull away. “That okay?”

Steve stares at their entwined hands. “Sure.”

“Good.” He tightens his grip. “Good.” He catches Steve’s eyes. The pain and confusion in them is familiar. He’s been there too, knows how much it hurts. It’s painful to see and hard not to look away. “Grace sends her love,” he says, nodding at the server as she reappears with the coffee. “Charlie too. He…he did you some drawings.”

Steve stirs. Light flickers in his eyes. “Drawings?”

“Yeah.” He releases his grip to put sugar in his coffee. A lot of sugar. “He wanted to call you while you were away. You know, tell you about his day. When I explained to him he couldn’t he did the drawings instead.” He takes a gulp of coffee. It’s perfect: hot and very strong. “He made me pin them all in the kitchen. You got your own personal art gallery, babe.”

Steve pulls his own coffee towards him. Nodding, he stares into it. “That’s cool. Tell him I’ll see them when I get back.”

“Any idea when that will be?” The words have slipped out unbidden. But it’s the thought that’s been dogging him ever since he got on the plane to Washington. He hadn’t lied when he said he’d be Steve’s side until the end. But if they’re going to have a relationship that has to be in Hawaii. He can’t leave Grace and Charlie behind.

Steve takes a sip of his coffee. Grimacing, he puts it back down. “I need to go and see Mary.” He riffles through the creamers and sugar. Pouring both into his mug, he stirs. “And Mom….” Blinking hard, he stares into his coffee. “I don’t…I don’t know where she is, Danny. They made me sign something when they took her…her body….but I didn’t ask and--”

He grabs Steve’s hand. The coffees almost go flying. “We’ll find out,” he promises. It’s lucky the CIA guy isn’t here now, he thinks. He’d beat the crap out of him. “I’ll get Lou to reach out.”

Steve exhales, shakily. “Thanks.”

Before he can reply the eggs and pancakes arrive. His mouth waters: they smell and look delicious. “I’ll arrange our flights to LA later,” he explains, pouring maple syrup on his pancakes. He needs all the sugar he can get. “I’ll call Lou and ask him to speak to the Governor. I’ve still got leave days owing and—”

“No.”

He freezes, the first forkful of pancakes and eggs half-way to his mouth. Steve’s glaring at him. He hasn’t touched his food. “No what?”

“You don’t need to come with me.”

He puts the food in his mouth and chews slowly. With his mouth full he can’t vent his frustration. He’d thought they were getting somewhere. “Okay,” he says, stabbing his fork into the eggs, “why don’t I need to go to LA?”

Steve shrugs. He starts to half-heartedly poke at his food. “Charlie. Grace. Five-0. You’re needed in Hawaii, Danny.”

_No. I’m needed right here. _He holds his fork tighter. The handle digs into his palm. “Lou’s good. We already talked about it—”

“He needs you there—”

“Steve—”

“It’s not fair to make Lou—"

His fork clatters as it drops on his plate. “I told him about _us_,” he says, unable to keep the information to himself any longer. “I told Lou.”

Steve’s eyes widen. His lips part in a shocked ‘O’. 

“I’m know we agreed not to tell anyone but…” He rests his head in his hands. It blocks out his view of Steve. “Eight weeks, Steve. I didn’t know if you were alive or not. I had to tell someone.”

There’s silence. Then the sound of a chair being pushed back across the floor. Panicked, he looks up. Steve’s out of his chair. In a second he’ll be gone again and..

“I’m just going to the rest room, Danny.”

Steve sounds so small, so lost. He doesn’t sound like his Steve at all. “Oh. Okay.”

He watches as Steve disappears into the rest rooms. His legs twitch with the need to follow. _It’s just the rest room, _he tells himself. _He’s gonna come back._

Slumping in his chair, he wipes his hand across his face. If it’s like this in a diner in Washington how the hell is he going to navigate Steve through a packed airport terminal or flying coach all the way to LA? Just thinking about it makes him want to curl up and cry.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the rest rooms, he retrieves his phone and dials. Part of him feels guilty: it’s only 3am in Honolulu. But he can’t do this on his own. To his surprise, it only rings twice before it’s picked up.

“Danny? You okay?”

His eyes close with relief at the sound of Lou’s voice. “Not really.” He clears his throat, tells himself to concentrate. “Isn’t it the middle of the night? What you doing up?”

“Is Steve with you?”

“Yeah.” _Kind of. _“Did you guys get a case—”

“Don’t worry about us.” There’s a pause, the sound of Lou walking, an office door opening and closing. “How’s Steve?”

He takes a deep breath. Then another one. Tiredness is making him emotional. Just one wrong word could tip him over the edge. “Not so good. I’m gonna need your help...”

A few minutes later and the call’s over. Lou’s going to contact him in a few hours. It’s not an instant solution to their problems but the weight he’s carrying on his shoulders isn’t as heavy. He doesn’t feel so alone. 

He’s putting his phone in his pocket when the rest room door opens and Steve appears. His eyes are red-rimmed, his mouth pinched with pain. Back at the table, he sits down carefully. Picking up his fork, he starts to eat.

He watches Steve for a moment. His heart’s yearning to offer comfort. His head’s telling him they both need to eat. Stifling a sigh, he waves at their server. They’re going to need more coffee. They’ve got a long day ahead.

To be continued…


	3. Steve

_Steve knows he’s staring at Danny sleeping but he can’t stop himself. He used to dream about moments like this, never once assuming they’d actually happen. Now the moment’s here it doesn’t feel real._

_Danny’s hair has always been his secret obsession. In his dreams he used to imagine what Danny would look like with mussed up hair. Not first thing in the morning – he’s seen that plenty of times when they’ve slept on each other’s couches. No, the images conjured up by his imagination were much more erotic than that. _

_In his dreams Danny always ended up on top of him, strong muscled arms bracketing his head. Danny’s body was flushed with desire, his hair mussed up and hanging over his face. He’d try to flip them over: to get Danny underneath him. But Danny always won. Danny’s eyes were laughing: relishing the fight, the challenge, the desire. His own heart would be thrumming like a hummingbird’s. He’d never felt so alive._

_It’s been three days since they confessed their feelings for each other. The reality has turned out to be a million times better than his dreams. But there’s still one thing missing: the hair._

_The hair – or the lack of it – is just inches from his nose. Ever since Danny turned up with the new haircut he’s been obsessed by it. The overall style screams ‘don’t mess with me’. The shaved sides are downy soft. _

_It had taken all his self-control not to stroke it the first time he saw it. Now he can touch as much as he wants. Rolling on his side, he props his head on his hand. He runs the tip of his forefinger across the short hair. It leaves a light indent behind it, a map of where he’s been._

_Danny opens one eye. Half-heartedly he swipes his hand. “You’re obsessed, you know that, right?” he grumbles, pulling the bed covers back over his ears._

_“I like it.” He pauses. As much as he’s enjoying himself he’s got plans. He needs Danny awake. “It makes you look…cute.”_

_Danny huffs. It’s a sound that suggests he’s long-suffering, that he doesn’t know how he ended up in bed with this goof. “That’s not what you called me last night.”_

_Steve stills. His dick twitches as the memories come back. He can feel himself blush. He’d called Danny a lot of things. But the word cute hadn’t featured at all. He reaches out, starts stroking again. The brush of shaved hair against his fingers reminds him of another time and place. “I still think you should have let me shave it. You know…back then.”_

_Danny rolls over. He manages a bleary-eyed glare. “Back in quarantine?” _

_He stops stroking. Other memories are coming to the fore. Maybe this isn’t the best argument to resurrect right now._

_“That what we’re talking about?” Danny carries on, oblivious. He shuffles closer so their noses are almost touching. A smile plays on his lips. “You were stir crazy. Deranged.”_

_“Deranged?” He huffs in mock-indignation. _

_“That thing with the clippers? That wasn’t normal, babe.”_

_“Says the man who’s shaved half his head.”_

_Danny runs his hand over his hair, preening. “Last night you told me it was - and I’m quoting you - ‘sexy as fuck’.”_

_He can feel his blush deepening. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud. He’s never been good at verbally expressing himself in bed. It’s usually his body that does the talking. “Admit it,” he says, swallowing hard, “you liked the shaved look on me. That’s why you got yours shaved too.”_

_It’s a joke, a bad one. Nerves have made him blurt it out. But suddenly it’s Danny whose face looks flushed, and it’s not because he’s burrowed under the sheets. “You _did_ like it.”_

_Danny holds his gaze. “Maybe.”_

_His heart’s thudding. Suddenly breathless, he licks his lips. “I could shave it again.”_

_“Uh, uh,” Danny says, shaking his head slowly, “because then I wouldn’t be able to do this.”_

_He huffs with surprise as Danny runs his fingers through his hair - then he grabs it. Suddenly he’s being hauled in for a bruising kiss. The grip on his hair tightens. He’s pinned. Pain tingles across his scalp. He mashes their lips together, groaning as Danny nudges his knee between his legs. He’s half-hard already: so is Danny. He already knows he isn’t going to last long._

_His world reduces down to sensations. Touch. Taste. Smell. He rushes towards his climax. Triumphant, he drags Danny over the edge with him._

_When he wakes again a while later, Danny’s half-draped over him. Rolling his head side-ways, he looks straight into Danny’s eyes. There’s a crease between Danny’s eyebrows that hadn’t been there before. Craning his neck, he pecks it with a kiss. “You okay?”_

_“Just thinking.”_

_“About?”_

_Danny tightens his grip. “Telling the team about us. We gotta go back to work tomorrow, babe.”_

_His heart sinks. They’ve only had three days together. Everything’s still so new. “Do we have to?” _

_Danny plants a gentle kiss on his shoulder. “They’re gonna notice.” He plants another kiss. “I was wondering…maybe…I figured maybe we could tell Grace and Charlie first?”_

_The hopeful note in Danny’s voice makes his heart twist painfully. “Next weekend,” he suggests, his heart skipping with excitement and dread. He pauses. Takes a breath. “It’s going to be alright isn’t it? I mean, with Charlie and Grace? They won’t mind, right? I mean…I know it’s kinda sudden but…ow…” He squirms away from the finger that’s just been jabbed in his ribs – hard. “What was that for?”_

_Danny plants a quick, sloppy kiss on his mouth. Throwing back the covers, he gets out of bed. “What was that for? That was me telling you that Charlie and Grace love you,” he explains, his hands accompanying his words as he heads for the bathroom. “If you weren’t such a goof with gigantic attachment issues I’d be annoyed with you right now. But I gonna give you a free pass.” Danny pauses at the bathroom door, looks back. “You wanna know why?”_

_He tries to look serious. But the happiness bubbling inside him wins. “Because you love me?”_

_“Because I love you.” Danny shakes his head with mock-sadness. “God knows why.” _

_Several witty retorts cross his mind. He ignores them. All his focus is on Danny – a naked Danny – standing in his bedroom. _

_Damn. How had he got so lucky?_

_He’s about to say that - or try to - when Danny goes into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. He stares at the door for a moment. Navigating new relationships is tricky. He’s not sure whether he’s welcome inside._

_The sound of his phone ringing breaks into his thoughts. He retrieves it from the bedside table. The whole team are on R&R for the weekend. If someone’s calling then it’s got to be urgent. Checking the display, he frowns. It’s not a number he recognises. _

_Glancing over at the bathroom door, he quashes his disappointment. It’ll just be a quick call, he tells himself, as he raises the phone to his ear. They’ll have the rest of the day to themselves._

_He’s right. The call does only last a few minutes. But he’s still staring at his phone when Danny opens the bathroom door again._

_“Hey. What you still doing out here…” Danny starts, grinning. He trails off, his expression turning serious. “Steve? What’s wrong?”_

_Slowly he raises his eyes to meet Danny’s. “I got a…I got.…” He clears his throat, tries again. “It’s the CIA. They’ve got news about my Mom.”_

“Steve? We’re nearly there.”

Blinking, he brings himself back to the present. He’s sitting in the back of a cab. Danny’s sitting beside him. His eyes feel gritty, his injured shoulder is throbbing painfully. He rubs at his face with his good hand. His mind stutters as he touches his freshly trimmed beard. _Not Mexico, _he reminds himself, looking out of the window. They’ve left Washington and they’re driving onto an Air Force Base an hour away. He focuses on the military buildings, tries to anchor himself in their familiarity. But the memory of that morning with Danny, months earlier, still lingers. 

“What did Lou say?”

Danny raises his eyebrows. He’s got dark shadows under his eyes. “Lou? About the flight to California? I told you, remember? We’re flying out of Andrews Air Force Base and we’ll be landing at—“

He shakes his head. “What did Lou say when you told him about _us_?”

“_Us_?” Danny glances around the interior of the cab, as if he’s looking for answers. Chewing on his bottom lip, he settles for staring outside inside. “He was good,” he says, a moment later. “Yeah. He was happy.”

There’s a note in Danny’s voice that makes him ask: “Really?”

Danny meets his eyes. “This is Lou we’re talking about, Steve.”

Alert signals go off in his brain: Danny sounds angry. At him. He sits up straighter as his adrenaline levels start to rise. “I know. It’s just…you sounded—“

“He was worried, okay? About me. About you. About Charlie and Grace.”

His own anger, the anger he’s been fighting so hard to keep control of, starts to stir. “So he doesn’t think it’ll work out between us—“

Danny’s eyes widen. He raises his hands. “Not that,” he says, more softly. “He was worried about what would happen if you didn’t come back.”

“Oh. That.”

“Yeah.” Danny holds his gaze for a moment longer. He looks away. “That.”

Silence falls. The cab driver, he realises, is watching them in his rear-view mirror. He stares back. Head ducking down, the cab driver turns his attention back to the road.

“Why are you bringing this up now?” 

Danny’s spoken so quietly he can barely hear him. He pretends for a moment that he really hasn’t. He doesn’t want to talk, not about anything. He’s not even sure why he asked about Lou. That morning, months before, it doesn’t seem real anymore. 

“Babe?”

The sadness in Danny’s voice makes his stomach cramp painfully. He feels sick inside. Staring down at his hands, he forces himself to form the words Danny needs. “I was thinking about…about that last morning. You know…before I got the call about Mom.”

Danny’s hand appears in his vision. It curls around his good hand. “There’re gonna be other mornings like that, Steve.”

He nods, mutely. Danny sounds so certain. But Hawaii still feels like a long way away. 

H50H50H50

There’s a C130 transport plane waiting on the runway for them. They’re escorted to it as soon as they arrive at the passenger terminal. 

As they cross the tarmac he can feel his body starting to unwind. The smell of aviation fuel is so familiar, as is the sound of planes landing and taking off. There are lots of people around, it’s busy. But everything’s organised, it’s focused. There’s no chaos, no yelling, no threats. 

“You good?”

He looks down at Danny, forces himself to smile. He’s not good. But the itch under his skin that he’s had since Mexico – the one that’s telling him to run – has reduced to an annoying buzz. 

His improved mood lasts until they walk up the steps. Dipping his head, he steps onto the plane, then freezes. He’d been expecting the loading bay to be full of supply pallets. Instead it’s full of patients on stretchers, or propped up in seats. Staff are busy working around them, preparing for the flight.

It’s a medical flight.

Anger flaring, he turns to find Danny. “I don’t need —“

“Commander McGarrett? Detective Williams?”

He swings back. A young woman with Lieutenant’s bars on the collar of her camouflage jacket is standing in front of them. He reads her name badge. “There’s got to be some mistake, Lieutenant Vickers. We just need a transport home…” He stops, shakes his head. They’re not going home. They’re going to LA. To Mary. He has to tell Mary about Mom.

Mom.

His fault.

Oh God.

A hand touches his elbow, gently. He leans into it, tells himself to breathe.

“What he means,” Danny says quietly, from right behind him, “is we didn’t realise this is a medical flight. We don’t want to take up space if someone else needs it.”

Vickers glances back, over her shoulder. “We’re taking them home. Most of them were patients at Walter Reed. Now they need rehabilitation, time to recover.” Her gaze travels over the sling he’s wearing. She meets his eyes. “They need to be somewhere familiar, to be with family and friends.” Turning away, she gestures at them to follow. “We’ve got a couple of stops before we land at Edwards,” she explains as she leads them to the back of the plane, “but I’m sure we can make you comfortable.”

‘Comfortable’ is a row of tatty recliner chairs stretched along the side of the plane. The seats nearest already have people in them. The seats at the back are empty, apart a couple of chairs that have kit bags on them. One of them is marked ‘Vickers’. 

It’s on the tip of his tongue to protest again. He feels like a fraud. But Danny looks exhausted. And his shoulder is aching like hell. He nods his thanks but the Lieutenant’s already gone, giving orders as they get ready for take-off. Then Danny’s fussing around him, slinging their kitbags under the chairs and helping him belt in.

It’s not long before they’re taking off. The plane vibrates loudly as the engines lift the plane to cruising altitude. Then it levels out. It’s still noisy but not so loud that you can’t talk.

Vickers reappears a short-while later. She offers them water and protein bars. He shakes his head but Danny takes them. As she disappears, Danny meets his eyes, raising one eyebrow.

Sighing, he relieves Danny of one of the water bottles. He knows what Danny’s saying: he needs to take his meds. It’s not only the pain meds Danny’s been worrying about: it’s his anti-rejection meds too. That’s another thing he won’t discussing with Danny, he thinks, as he swallows down the pills. Danny’s probably already guessed that following his drug regime wasn’t uppermost in his mind in Mexico. But he doesn’t actually need it confirmed.

Finishing the water, he leans in close to Danny. “Go to sleep,” he says, nudging him gently with his good shoulder. “I’ll be fine.” 

Danny shakes his head. Then he yawns.

“See what I mean?” he chides, his lips next to Danny’s ear. “We’ve got a long drive at the other end. Go to sleep.”

Danny crosses his arms. His lips are pursed in a long, stubborn line. But he does stretch out his legs. 

Guilt floods through him. He leans in further, until he’s tucked right up next to Danny. “We’re on a plane. I’m not going anywhere.”

He knows his words have hit home when Danny’s shoulders sag. It’s like someone’s drained all the tension and fear out of out of him. _You did that to him, _a voice in his head tells him, as Danny stretches out in his seat and closes his eyes. _You’re the one who dragged him into this life._

He shoves the thought into the back of his mind, shutting it down hard. He watches Danny for a while, relieved as his face relaxes into sleep. His own body is screaming out for rest. He ignores it. The last thing he’s going to do in front of all these strangers is sleep.

His tired mind starts to wander. His eyes wander too. It’s not his first time on a medical flight. He’d passed the others in a vague, drug-induced haze. So this is the first time he’s actually had a chance to take it all in.

He’s served in the frontline of battle-zones. He knows how fragile the human body is. He’s seen how it shatters or explodes. He’s seen friends badly injured. He’s escorted other friends home in a box. But watching the injured men and women around him – many of them much younger than him - it suddenly hits him: the huge amount of human sacrifice.

He’s always accepted it before. Somehow he always finds the energy to pick himself up again, to risk his life for what he believes in because that’s who he _is. _But suddenly he’s very aware of Danny asleep beside him, this man he loves so much. He could have lost all this before it even really started.

Panic stirs in the pit of his belly. The adrenaline buzz is back. His vision blurs then narrows. His brain flips and he’s in the warehouse in Mexico. He’s gripping his Mom’s hand. The life in her eyes is fading. And this time he can’t bring her back. Then his brain flips again and he’s in quarantine. He’s holding Danny’s hand and Danny’s bleeding out and…

“Steve?”

He jerks out of his thoughts. His shoulder twinges painfully. His heart feels like it’s going to jump out of his chest. He digs his fingers into his thigh to ground him. _Breathe, _he thinks. _Just fucking breathe._

“Babe?”

His eyes feel like they’re burning. He scrubs at them with his sleeve. “Go back to sleep.”

There’s shuffling beside him. He risks a sideways glance. Danny’s half-turned towards him. In the artificial light he looks pale and drawn.

Danny’s gaze travels over him. His eyebrows join together. It’s clear he doesn’t like what he’s seeing. “What you thinking about?”

_That you shouldn’t be here, Danny. This isn’t the life you deserve. _“Nothing.”

“That didn’t look like nothing.”

He takes another breath. Then another. _Breathe through your nose for four, hold your breath for four…_

“Steve.”

He recognises the hint of determination in Danny’s voice. “Fine,” he agrees reluctantly, keeping his eyes forward. “I was thinking maybe…maybe I should feel more grateful.”

Danny frowns. “Grateful?”

He shrugs. He looks down at his shoulder. It’s only a minor wound. Then he looks around the plane again. “I’m not injured. Things could have turned out a lot worse if—"

“_Jesus_, babe—”

“What?”

“You really don’t get it, do you?” Danny’s hunches forward. He’s so close his lips are next to his ear. It’s almost intimate, despite sitting in the middle of all these people. “Injuries don’t have to be physical.”

He recoils. The words are striking way too close to home. “I _know _that.”

Danny’s watching him with a laser stare. “Do you?”

He rubs his injured shoulder. The throbbing pain’s going fuzzy round the edges. The meds are kicking in. Straightening up the sling, he closes his eyes. “Go to sleep, Danny.”

There’s a pause. A long one. Then Danny shifts again, leaning in as close as he can with the arm rests between them. Suddenly he can feel Danny’s hair against his cheek. It’s slightly longer but it’s still soft. It’s just how he remembers.

Reaching out blindly, he finds Danny’s hand. They’re sitting in the belly of a noisy C130. It’s nothing like his bedroom at home. The happiness he’d felt bubbling in his chest that day is gone. In its place is anger and grief. Tonight they’ll arrive in LA. And he’s going to break his sister’s heart. But at least he’s got Danny.

For now.

To be continued…


	4. Danny

_Danny opens Steve’s front door without knocking. Eddie bounds over to greet him. He rubs Eddie’s ears but his mind is elsewhere. Closing the door behind him, he listens. All he can hear is his heart thumping and Eddie’s tail swishing on the floor._

_“Steve?”_

_Dread makes his heart sink to his stomach. Silently he berates himself. Steve’s truck is parked outside. He wouldn’t have gone after his Mom without saying goodbye. Would he?_

_He ducks inside the kitchen. The dirty plates and wine glasses from the night before are sitting in dirty dishwasher, in the sink. A vivid image pops in his head of him and Steve kissing. Steve’s hands are covered in bubbles: he’d been about to wash up. Instead, Steve’s desperately tugging at the hem of his tee-shirt. He shivers as Steve’s bubble-covered hands slide under the waistband of his jeans. His stomach muscles twitch as a bolt of desire shoots down his spine. Still kissing they leave a trail of bubbles behind them as they head for the stairs…_

_He shakes his head, to dislodge the memory. It had only been the night before. So much has happened since then. _

_Heading back in the living room, he calls out Steve’s name. Getting no answer. he takes the stairs two at time. It does nothing to burn off his nervous energy. If anything, it makes it worse: Steve must have heard his boots on the wooden steps. But he’s still not appeared._

_Making it to the top, he pauses. He’s breathing hard. This house, over the years, has become as familiar as his own. But it still takes all his courage to step into the main bedroom._

_Steve’s there, packing his kitbag. He’s got his back to the door. He stops, just for a second. Then he starts packing again._

_Danny hovers in the doorway. His fingers twitch with the need to touch. His brain though is confused. The bed’s still unmade, the room still smells of sex and sweat. Steve’s body language is telling him to back off. The contrast makes his heart drop to his stomach._

_“Babe?”_

_Taking a step forward, he rests his hand on Steve’s shoulder. Steve keeps packing. Mechanically. “I get it, Steve. You’ve got to go. She’s your Mom. I just…” He trails off. They’ve had this conversation before. There’s so much more on the line this time. “Is there any way I can convince you not to do this on your own?”_

_Steve zips the bag closed. “No.”_

_“Okay. I get maybe I don’t have the skills for this but Junior—”_

_“You’ve got the skills—”_

_“Then why won’t you—”_

_Steve turns, meets his gaze. His face is expressionless, his eyes shuttered. They stare at each other. Then Steve blinks and his façade shatters. “I…need you here, Danny. You and Grace and Charlie. I need to know you’re safe and—”_

_His heart aches at the pain in Steve’s voice. But there’s anger simmering under his skin too. Anger at Doris. At the CIA. At the fucking awful timing of everything. “So, what, I’m supposed to just sit here and wait for you to come back?”_

_Steve rubs at his brow with his thumb. “Yes.”_

_“What if I don’t want to?”_

_For a second he thinks Steve hasn’t heard him. Then suddenly he’s being pushed backwards. His shoulder blades hit the wall with an audible thud. Steve’s looming over him. His eyes are dark with fear._

_“Promise you won’t follow me, Danny.”_

_“Steve—”_

_“Promise me.”_

_He nods, mutely. He’s never seen Steve this scared before._

_“I need you to make sure the team don’t follow me either. You heard what Agent Coen said—”_

_“It’s okay. I was there. I heard him.” It’s not. It’s so far from okay. But it’s what Steve needs to hear right now. “I’ll make sure they don’t follow you…just…”_

_“What?”_

_He swallows the words he wants to say; Steve can’t promise to come back anyway. “I’ll still be here when you come back. You know that. right?”_

_Steve’s face relaxes. Some of the tension in his shoulders drops away. “I know,” he breathes. He swallows hard. “I…I love you.”_

_They’d declared their love for each other that morning. This feels much more serious. He leans in, kisses Steve gently. “I love you too.”_

_Steve shifts so their foreheads are touching. They both breathe, just breathe. Then suddenly they’re kissing desperately. Their hands search out each other. They hold on tight. They both know this is going to have to last them for a long time._

_It’s not going to be enough._

H50H50H50H50H0

“It’s the blue house on the left, Danny.”

Danny parks outside the house that Steve’s pointing at. It’s clear it’s seen better days. The wood cladding is fading around the edges. It had probably once been painted bright blue: now it’s closer to grey. The front lawn – which is more of a dirt pit - is littered with children’s toys. It blends in with the rest of the neighbourhood. 

He feels a pang of homesickness as he peers out of the windscreen. There’s a lot of things about the place that reminds him of New Jersey. It’s scruffy but there are little details on each house that show they’re looked after. They belong to working-class families. It feels safe, quietly welcoming. He understands why Aunt Deb – and Mary – had chosen to live here.

“What am I going to say to her?”

Switching off the engine, he flexes his fingers. His arms and shoulders are aching from the flight and the long-drive. They twinge as he twists to face Steve. A wave of helplessness hits him. Steve’s staring out of the windshield. He looks so tired. So lost.

“I don’t know, babe.” They haven’t called ahead to warn Mary. They’d decided it would be cruel. Back when he’d had to tell his Mom and Dad about Matt, his Mom had guessed instantly when she’d seen his face. He’s got a horrible feeling Mary’s gonna do the same. “Do you want…I mean, I can if you…”

Steve winces as releases his seat belt. “No,” he sighs, rubbing at his injured shoulder. “I gotta tell her.” He opens his door. “Let’s go.”

He follows Steve’s lead, stopping long enough to get their bags out of the truck. Steve’s reassured him there’s enough space at Mary’s for them to sleep over. He prays he’s right: he’s barely got enough energy to make it to front door. Finding somewhere else to stay isn’t happening until he’s got at least a few hours sleep.

Suddenly Steve stops in front of him. He bumps into him, his brain too tired to react. “What the he—”

“What if she hates me?”

“What?”

Steve’s staring at the house. Dread is written across his face. “What if she hates me, Danny? It’s my fault Mom’s dead and—”

“What?” He knows he’s sounding like a broken record. But his mind’s reeling. This is so wrong. “Why would she think that?” He grabs Steve’s arm, trying to get his attention. It’s like trying to move a brick wall. “Look at me. Why would _you_ think that, huh?”

He doesn’t get an answer. The front door of the house opens. Mary’s standing there. Steve makes a sound somewhere between and a groan and a sob. Then he’s running towards the house as Mary’s face crumples and she begins to cry.

H50H50H50H50

Danny sips his mug of tea. It’s green tea. No caffeine. His eyelids are drooping, exhaustion dragging them down. He blinks, shakes his head to keep awake. He’d kill for a double espresso right now.

His stupor isn’t being helped by the fact he’s just eaten a plate of pasta and tomato sauce. It’s sitting heavy on his stomach. With hindsight, it might have been sensible to cook something lighter. But a search through Mary’s kitchen had been a depressing experience involving too many empty cupboards and pre-packaged foods. Before he leaves, he decides, he’s going to teach her to cook some simple dishes. Charlie’s favourites. Joanie will like them too.

He shakes his head again, annoyed with himself. Tiredness is making his thoughts stupid. Now is not the time to be thinking about cooking lessons.

He’s sitting on a recliner in Mary’s living room. Across from him Mary and Steve are sitting on a couch. Between them is a coffee table. Their plates are stacked on it. His and Mary’s are empty. Steve’s is barely touched. Sighing inwardly he checks the urge to tell Steve to eat. Even a simple disagreement like that could push them over the edge. 

Watching Steve and Mary, he’s reminded of when Matt died. Word had got out quickly in his family’s neighbourhood in New Jersey. Family and friends had dropped in unannounced. Night and day people have delivered their condolences, often along with gifts of food. His parents’ house had smelt of beef and dumpling stew for days afterwards. 

Sometimes the interruptions had felt intrusive. Mostly they’d helped. Talking about Mattie – about the good times – had stopped them falling into a hopeless, questioning spiral of ‘what-ifs’. At least for a while.

Steve’s slung his arm across Mary’s shoulders. She’s tucked up right beside him. Mary’s eyes are red-rimmed. Steve’s aren’t. Clinging together, they look lonely and lost. There’s no one to call, he realises. No one to tell. Their grief is trapped with them, inside these four walls.

Sadness makes his eyes burn. Gulping down the rest of the green tea, he stands up. “I’ll clean up,” he offers. Not waiting for a response, he picks up the plates and heads for the kitchen.

The kitchen is only a few steps away – Mary’s house is small. Joanie is in bed but he still has to navigate around her toys and various small pieces of furniture. The house could be called cluttered. In his head he’s labelled it ‘homely’. There are flashes of colour everywhere: mismatched fabrics and wall-hangings. Some of it looks like it’s from the 70’s. Aunt Deb, he guesses, his lips twitching up in fond remembrance. 

It reminds him in some ways of Steve’s house: the trapped in a time-warp vibe. But that’s where the resemblance ends. Anyone walking in would know a young family lived here. They’d recognise the welcoming warmth behind the chaos. 

The organised chaos continues in the kitchen. Every work surface is covered in something. Juggling the dirty plates and his mug, he puts them in the sink. Turning on the hot water, he adds bubbles. A hunt under the sink reveals a dish cloth. Rolling up his sleeves, he starts to wash.

A pang of homesickness hits him; for Hawaii and New Jersey. He misses his sisters and their easy banter. He misses his Dad’s steadying silences and his Mom’s need to feed and coddle everyone. Most of all he’s missing Grace and Charlie, their evenings when they stay over. He’s been teaching them to cook. There’s no way he’s letting Grace go to college without being able to fend for herself. And Charlie…well he just likes to make a mess. 

It’s his happy place. 

A thought prods his brain. Chasing it, he frowns. It’s Charlie’s birthday next week. He’d been excited, making plans. It’s not that he’d forgotten. It’s just that ever since Junior called him from DC there’s been somewhere else he’s needed to be.

Conflicted, he finishes cleaning up. Experience has taught him that juggling family and relationships is hard at the best of times. Right now it feels like an impossible task.

As he finishes tidying something on the far wall catches his eye. Taking the few steps to the other side of the kitchen he investigates. It’s a pin board covered in photos. Aunt Deb and Joanie feature quite heavily. There are a couple of John McGarrett with Steve and Mary as kids. There’s even one of Grace and Charlie sitting on Steve’s beach, grinning. 

There isn’t a single picture of Doris.

Filing that information away, he scans the photos again. There’s one in particular that catches his eye. It’s Aunt Deb, Mary and Steve standing in front of the house. Steve’s wearing his khaki Navy uniform: attached are the SEAL insignia and Lieutenant’s bars. He looks young, mid-twenties. His expression is shuttered. It screams ‘keep out’.

It’s the same expression he’s been wearing since DC.

“2002,” Mary says quietly from the kitchen doorway, making him jump. “He’d just finished his first tour of Afghanistan.”

She steps up beside him. He slides his arm around her shoulders, gives them a reassuring squeeze. His heart aches as she rests her head on his shoulder. She’s the same age as his sisters. But she’s been through so much. 

“Steve’s asleep,” she adds, anticipating his next question.

That doesn’t surprise him. Steve had napped his way through the flight and the drive to Mary’s. No longer than five minutes at a time. Every time he’d jerked awake, his eyes wild with confusion and fear.

He tightens his grip on her shoulders, encouraging her to stay. Inwardly he breathes a sigh of relief as she settles in. 

“Everyone looks at that picture,” she whispers, oblivious to his thoughts. “They think he’s handsome in his uniform.”

He bites back his first thought; Mary doesn’t know about _them. _Anyway, it’s not the uniform that’s grabbed his attention. He can’t look away from Steve’s eyes.

Glancing back towards the living room, she swallows hard. “They gave him a week’s leave. One lousy week.” She rubs her eyes. “He spent it fixing the roof.”

“The roof?”

“It’s was Aunt Deb’s idea. He wouldn’t sit still, wouldn’t talk. She figured he’d be happier doing something.”

There’s silence. Bile rises in his throat. “Did he…did he ever talk about it?”

She stills under his arm. “Afghanistan? No.” There’s another pause. Then she asks the question he’s been dreading since she walked in the kitchen: “What happened, Danny?”

_The CIA screwed him over. _“It’s his story to tell. I can’t—”

“But he won’t, will he?”

Mary’s keeping her voice low - barely. He squeezes her shoulder again. “Give him time.” 

It’s a lie. They both know it. He’s not surprised when she tries to pull away. She gives him a look that’s half-hurt, half-desperation. It makes him want to hug her and never let go. 

“It was the CIA,” he confesses, pulling her back. He listens: there’s still no noise in the living room. “We met them in Honolulu. They…they asked Steve to…to go to Mexico and find your Mom.”

“They _asked_?” She studies his face. Her own face crumbles with anger. Pulling away, she goes and stares out of the kitchen window. “_Bastards.”_

He looks away, hating himself. He’s making a mess of this. She’s a McGarrett. She knows how the world of national security and espionage works. To suggest otherwise is to disrespect what she and Steve have been through in their lives.

“Sorry,” he says, meaning it with every fibre of his being. He goes to stand beside her, looking out of the window too. It looks so peaceful outside. It’s a stark contrast to the anger he’s feeling inside. “I tried to stop him. I told him it was a suicide mission. But it was your Mom and they knew that. The fuckers _knew_ that and they used it against him and the idiot wouldn’t let me go with him because he was worried about Charlie and Grace—”

“Shh.” Now he’s the one who’s being hugged and he holds on tight. “It’s not your fault, Danny. None of it is. It’s just…how things work in our family.”

Pulling away, he studies her face. She looks weary. Resigned. His anger flares at the unfairness of it all. This shouldn’t be her life. It’s shouldn’t be Steve’s either.

It’s Doris’s fault. All of this.

The anger flares again. It’s quickly followed by shame. A few hours ago Mary found out her mother was dead – again. This isn’t the moment to feel sorry for himself. Taking a steadying breath, he tells her that.

She shrugs, stiffly. “I always knew it would happen one day,” she says, trying for a matter-of-fact tone that fools neither of them. “You know…someone coming to the front door, to tell me she’d died. I figured, you know, one day…” Trailing off she glances towards the living room. She takes a deep, shaky breath. “When you pulled up…at first I couldn’t see Steve, just you… He called me a while back and told me he’d be off grid for a while so I knew...I thought…I thought…” She swallows, rubs at her face. “I was so relieved when he got out of the car.”

He pulls her close. “Mary—”

“I know it’s wrong,” she says, her voice muffled against his shoulder, “but I always figured that if I lost Mom again it would be okay because I’d still have Steve. I can’t lose him, Danny. I can’t…”

His breath catches in his throat. “You won’t.” _We won’t._

Sniffing, she pulls away from him. “He’s lucky to have you.”

He forces himself to grin. “I know. I tell him that every day.”

It’s a dumb joke but she laughs anyway. The ache in his heart eases a little. 

“Mare? You okay?”

They turn. Steve’s standing in the doorway. He’s got a white-knuckled grip on the doorframe. Studying them, his eyebrows join up in a frown.

Mary rubs her nose with the back of her hand. “You look awful,” she shoots back.

“She’s right, babe,” he chides as Steve opens his mouth to argue. The dark circles under Steve’s eyes are more pronounced than earlier. He looks paler, not helped by his beard which is already looking scruffy again. “You taken your meds?”

Steve studies them some more. “No.”

There’s silence. Then Mary gets a glass, fills it with water and offers it to Steve.

Steve stares at it, like it’s unexploded ordnance. Then he takes it with his free hand. Wincing, he pulls his injured arm out of the sling and reaches inside his pants pocket. Retrieving a bottle of pills, he takes the lid off using his teeth. Tipping a couple of tablets into the hand holding the glass, he repeats the whole exercise in reverse to put the tablets away.

“You could have just asked.”

Steve quirks up one eyebrow at Mary’s sarcastic observation. Swallowing the tablets, he takes a gulp of water. He lowers the glass. Slowly. “Happy now?”

“Ecstatic.”

Danny watches them in silence. The feeling of homesickness is back. Mary would love his sisters, he realises. One day he’s gonna make sure they meet. 

Dragging himself back to the present, he tries to focus on the more immediate problem: Steve. “How about you get some rest,” he suggests. “It’s been a long day.”

To his surprise Steve nods immediately. “I’m beat.” Looking at Mary, he gestures with a nod to the back of the house. “It okay if we take the guest room?”

Mary gaze switches between them. Her expression turns apologetic. “It’s a double bed. Danny, you can have my bed. I’ll take the couch and—”

He’s about to lie, to say he’ll be fine on the couch. Then Steve waves, almost dismissively. “It’s okay, Mare. Me and Danny…we’re…together.”

Mary’s expression is one of shocked confusion. He’s pretty sure his is the same. This isn’t the way he wanted this to happen. Fuck it, Mary’s had enough shocks for one day. “_Steven_—”

Mary’s there before him; crossing the kitchen in two strides she slaps Steve on his good arm. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Steve has the good sense to look contrite. “I didn’t…I couldn’t…”

He takes pity on Steve. “It happened just before Mexico.”

Mary freezes. A myriad of emotions cross her face. “Damn.”

“I’m sorry, Mare, I would have but—”

She kisses Steve on the cheek. “I’m happy for you.” Hugging him, she retraces her steps and gives Danny a hug too. “Really happy.”

Tilting her head, she studies them in turn. He braces himself: he knows that look, she’s so like his sisters.

“I want details,” she says eventually, her gaze resting on Steve, “but I’m gonna wait until tomorrow because you look like shit.”

Steve’s raises his eyebrows. “Thanks. I think…” Before he can say anything else he’s ambushed by a jaw-cracking yawn. “I’m going, I’m going,” he mutters, turning and disappearing out of the kitchen. 

They listen to Steve shuffling down the hallway. A door open and closes. There’s the sound of running water.

Mary breathes out slowly. Taking a step back, she leans against him, shoulder to shoulder. “Thank you for bringing him.”

He nods. 

The water stops running. The toilet flushes. A door opens. Steve shuffles. Another door opens and closes. Silence falls again.

“Aunt Deb hated that photo.”

Mentally he drags himself back from the corridor, from Steve. Mary’s looking at the picture again – the one taken after Afghanistan.

“She could always see through the uniform,” Mary continues. He braces himself as she leans in further, letting him take her weight. “I mean…she respected it, you know? She was so proud of him. But she…she hated it too.”

“Yeah.”

She twists, looking him straight in the eye. He holds her gaze: it feels like she’s searching for something. Whatever it is, she finds it. With a slight nod she turns back to the picture.

“Mom loved it. The whole Navy thing. The SEALs. She understood that.”

Bitterness is woven through her words. It drives his next question: “And you?”

“Me?” She shrugs, pulls away from him. “She wanted her baby girl back.”

“Mary—”

“It’s okay, Danny.” Head down, she rubs her hand over face. It’s such a familiar McGarrett gesture: it makes his heart ache. “I’ll get your towels. Your bedroom is the second door on the left. Bathroom is on the right.”

He lets her go. A quick glance at his watch confirms it is still early. Staying up is an option. The knowledge that there’s a bed just down the corridor is too strong to ignore though. When Mary reappears with the towels he give his apologies and hugs her goodnight.

As he heads for the bathroom the TV turns on. The volume’s muted. The light from the screen adds an eerie glow to the living room. There’s movement as Mary sits on the couch. He hesitates, torn. 

Biting back a sigh, he heads for the bathroom. He won’t be any use to anyone without sleep. Tomorrow is another day. Ignoring how that thought comes with an impending sense of doom, he washes up quickly. Moving quietly, he opens the bedroom door.

The bedside lamp is on. Steve’s still awake, staring at the ceiling. He’s under the sheets, with just his shoulders showing. He’s still wearing the tee-shirt he’s had on all day. The dressing covering the gunshot wound is peaking out of the top. His clothes are neatly folded and stacked by the bed, the sling sitting on the top.

“You okay, babe?” It’s a stupid question: he knows the answer. But he feels the need to telegraph his arrival.

There’s a pause. Then Steve sighs, his chest rising and falling heavily.

Taking that as his cue, he manoeuvres his way around the bedroom. It’s small, barely big enough to fit the king-size bed. There’s a quilt on top of the covers, made out of scraps of mis-matched material. As he climbs into bed, he runs his hand over it. “My grandmother used to make these,” he explains softly, as he plumps up the pillows. “Mom and Dad have one on their bed back home.”

Steve rolls his head to face him. His expression is full of regret. “You’re missing Grace and Charlie.”

He meets Steve’s eyes. He could lie; Steve’s got enough to worry about. But Steve’s reaching out to him and he _needs_ that right now. Taking a deep breath, he tells the truth: “Yeah. And…and I keep thinking about Matt, about when I went home and told Mom—” 

Steve’s grabbed his hand. He holds on tight, fighting back the emotions that have been threatening since he stepped in this house. 

“I’m sorry, Danny. I shouldn’t have asked you—”

He squeezes back, unable to trust his voice.

“I would have managed on my own.”

He lets out a wet-sounding snort. “You’re an idiot.” 

“Maybe,” Steve concedes with a tired huff. “Thanks,” he adds. 

Not sure what he’s being thanked for, he kisses Steve on the temple anyway. Steve tilts his head, chasing his touch. Their eyes meet; they reflect the pain they’re both feeling. He kisses Steve again, letting his lips linger for a moment. Inhaling deeply – inhaling Steve’s scent - he slides under the covers so their bodies are touching, at hip and shoulder. It’s a world away from the contact he’s craving. But at least Steve’s accepted his touch. 

Reaching over Steve, he switches off the bedside lamp. Sleep is still slow coming though. Every sense is watching out for Steve, waiting for that moment when he falls asleep – and inevitably is woken up by a nightmare. Closing his own eyes doesn’t work either – his own nightmares are waiting.

His mind drags him back to Colombia. The oil drum containing Matt’s body is in front of him. Part of his sleeping subconscious is screaming at him to get out of there. The nightmare has other ideas. Held in its grip, he’s helpless to do anything but watch. Everything’s blurred but he doesn’t need to see clearly to know what’s in the oil drum. Heartbeat thundering, he leans forward to look inside. 

There’s a body. It’s in the early stages of decomposition. Gagging at the smell, he swallows hard, trying not retch. He doesn’t want to believe it’s Matt, even though he knows how this nightmare ends. Blinking away his tears, he stares inside. Disbelief makes him blink again. His eyes widen as his horror grows.

It’s not Matt inside. It’s Steve.

A scream’s building in his throat, choking him. He’s oxygen-starved, fighting for breath. Panic flares, short-circuiting his brain, making it even harder to breathe.

“Danny. Danny. Wake up.”

It’s Steve calling him. The image in his mind blurs, floating away. The horror of it is still imprinted in his brain though, overlaying everything as he opens his eyes.

“I’ve got you.” Steve’s holding him tight, his strong arm wrapped around his waist. He’s making shushing noises under his breath. 

Slowly, his heart rate slows. As awareness comes flooding back he realises he’s sitting upright in bed. There’s a light coming in from the bedroom doorway: Mary’s standing there, worry written across her face.

“We’re good.”

Mary nods at Steve’s whispered reassurance. The door closes behind her with a soft click. The bedroom goes dark again.

He finds himself being pulled back under the covers. Shivering, he does as he’s told. When Steve spoons up behind him he subdues the urge to worry about his injured shoulder. The warmth of Steve’s body against his is just too good. It’s almost like being back in Hawaii.

“Yeah. It is.”

Steve’s whispered the words. He wasn’t aware he’d shared his thought out loud. _Maybe you didn’t, _his exhausted brain wonders vaguely. _Don’t care, _he decides as his eyes drift closed again. 

Steve’s arm is wrapped protectively around him. Listening to Steve breathing, the nightmare gradually recedes. It’s been the day from hell. If his brain wants to think they’re in bed together in Hawaii he’s got no problem with that. 

No problem at all.

To be continued…


	5. Steve

_“Dad? I’m going to get you out of there, all right? Don’t worry about it.”_

_“I’m sorry that I lied to you.”_

_“Lied to me about what, Dad? What are you talking about?”_

_“I love you son. I didn’t say it enough. Whatever these people want Steve, don’t give it to them. Don’t give it to them…”_

_A shot rings out. Steve’s blood runs cold as the horror of what’s just happened sinks in: he’s just listened to his Dad die at the other end of a phone. He yells for his father, begs him to answer. But the line stays silent. Then it goes dead._

Steve comes awake with a gasp. The memory is still running through his head like a horror film. Part of him is still in North Korea, the smell of cordite and blood assaulting his senses. Any second now he’s expecting to hear the emergency evac choppers come flying into the valley to rescue them. ‘You’re too late’, he’d screamed at them as they’d landed, soldiers spilling out. 

_You’re too fucking late, _he’d screamed at himself.

It’s a nightmare he used to have nightly. He thought he’d made peace with it. Angry, he forces himself to breathe through the lingering adrenaline surge. Gradually his heartbeat slows. The memory starts to fade. He can still taste cordite. But he can smell lavender too.

_Lavender?_

Aunt Deb’s house, he remembers. She’d loved it, used it everywhere. She might be gone but the scent still lingers in the bedroom. It’s on the sheets, he realises, sniffing them. That’s what he’d fallen asleep to: the scent of lavender on the sheets. 

Opening his eyes, he peers into the darkness. His eyelids still feel like sandpaper rubbing his eyeballs. Every joint in his body is aching. Sweat is rolling down his spine. It’s an after-effect of the nightmare. But unusually, he’s warm; too warm. 

Gradually, his brain catches up. Danny’s curled up next to him, facing him so their noses are just inches apart. He’s radiating body heat like a furnace. They’d joked about it, in Hawaii. Back there, they’d just thrown back the sheets and let the breeze cool their naked bodies. Or they’d jump into the sea together then stretch out on the beach to dry-off with ice cold beers.

His chest tightens at the memory. It doesn’t seem real any more. There’s a numb feeling where there was happiness. Anger is still bubbling under his skin.

“’kay?”

He blinks himself back to the present. Danny’s watching him, one eye open. It’s not clear from his mumbled question whether he’s actually awake. 

Gently he plants a kiss on Danny’s forehead. His brain might be fried but he’s sure of one thing: he loves this man with all his heart. Always has. “I’m okay,” he whispers, relieved when Danny closes his eyes again, curling further into himself. “Sleep.”

Danny’s breathing evens out. Staring at the ceiling, he listens to it for a while. Normally the sound relaxes him. Now he feels like he’s chasing it, trying to grab hold of the peace it promises and finding it just out of reach. Gradually the rhythmic inhale and exhale becomes more annoying, like an angry wasp constantly dive-bombing his head.

Cursing to himself, he slides out of bed. He waits, checking he hasn’t disturbed Danny. Then, with a last glance full of regret, he leaves. The bed still looks so inviting. But he knows he’s not going to sleep again tonight.

Out in the hallway, he’s surprised to see a light still on in the living room. Carefully picking his way around the squeaky floorboards that he’s discovered on previous visits, he goes to investigate.

Mary’s sitting on the couch, a thick, fluffy throw tucked around her shoulders. The glow is coming from a table lamp next to the couch. It gives the room an eerie, anxious quality.

His heart rate ramps up again, this time with worry. Mary might be an adult now but in his heart she will always be the little sister he’d had to say goodbye to at the airport after their Mom died. His heart aches as the memory replays in his mind’s eye.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Digging deep, he finds a smile from somewhere. She’ll see right through it, he knows that. But it’s the game they’ve always played. Everything can be hidden behind a smile.

“Nope. You?”

She shuffles up the couch in reply, patting the space she’s just vacated. He sits down. The couch cushions are warm. She’s been there for a while.

“You really do look like shit.”

It’s not an answer to his question but then again, he wasn’t really expecting one. Rubbing his aching shoulder, he slumps into the cushions. “It’s been…it’s been a long few months.”

“Yeah. I figured that.”

Silence falls. Mary’s got a photo album on her lap. His breath catches as he realises they are family pictures, the four them on the beach at the back of their house. Vaguely he can remember seeing a set of photo albums, way back when he was a kid. It had never occurred to him that Mary, or Aunt Deb, might still have them. 

“I forget sometimes, you know…what it was like...with Mom and Dad.”

Mary tilts the album towards him. Instantly he feels torn between looking or slamming it shut. But Mary’s eyes are red-rimmed, her cheeks blotchy from crying. She was only little when those pictures were taken. He’s the only person left now who can remember that time. 

The realisation makes him feel weak at the knees. As a teenager, learning how to survive in his new world at boarding school, he hadn’t wanted those memories. They’d hurt too much. Now he wishes he could turn the clock back. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring her back. I tried. I really did.”

Mary looks up, surprised. He imagines he looks equally surprised. It’s not what he’d meant to say but the words just came out. She runs her hand over the photos one last time then shuts the album. “It’s not your fault. Mom made her choices. She knew what she was doing—”

There’s a level of anger in his sister’s voice that shocks him. He puts his arm around her shoulder, trying to console her. To console both of them. “Those pictures, you can see how much she loves—"

“She left us twice, Steve. Her choice.”

He pauses, trying to choose his words carefully. He understands why Mary feels conflicted. The long, lonely days in Mexico had given him plenty of time to think about this too. “She had a job to do. She was trying to protect us.”

Mary pulls away, to look him in the eyes. “You still believe that?”

“She loved us, Mary.”

“Not like a mom should.”

_I love you so much. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. _He shakes his head, to clear the memory from Mexico. He knows he should share it but he can’t. It’s too much. Too soon. Too raw. _“_No,” he says, swallowing hard. “Maybe not. But she did. In her own way.”

Mary sniffs, rubs her nose on the back of her hand. Pulling the throw closer around her, she tucks herself back under his arm. “It was always on her terms.”

He tightens his grip on her shoulder. “She did her best. Sure, she couldn’t always be with us but—"

“You’re not always with us. You manage just fine.”

Frowning, he parses the sentence. His tired brain waves the white flag of surrender. “What does that mean?”

Mary sighs. He recognises that sound: she thinks he’s being an idiot. “How often do you talk to Joanie and me?”

“You know that.” He rubs his face. God, he’s so tired. “Once a week. FaceTime. Saturday night’s usually but if we’re on a case—

“How often have you read her a bedtime story?”

“I dunno. Depends when I call.” He slumps back into the couch, stares at the ceiling. “What’s your point?”

“The point? The point is you make an effort.”

He rolls her head, to look at her. “I love you guys. Of course I do that.”

“How often does…did Mom call me?”

His heart sinks. He looks away. “I dunno.”

“Twice a year. Three times, tops. My birthday and Joanie’s. Thanksgiving, sometimes.”

“She remembered the dates.” 

She rolls her eyes at him. He doesn’t mind: he deserves it. Tucking her feet under her, she looks pensive. “How often did you see her?”

He shrugs, feeling even more defensive. “She’d call.”

“Uh huh. When she wanted your help with something.”

“That’s not true.” He looks away, uncomfortable. There’s a reason they’ve always avoided this discussion before. Everything’s so fucked up. Exhaling loudly, he stares at the ceiling again. “I kept asking her to come home. Every time I saw her.”

There’s a huff from beside him. “How’d she take that?”

_What the hell are you doing here? _His cheek throbs at the remembered pain of Doris - Mom - striking him. He swallows hard. “At the end…at the end she said she loved us.”

Mary tucks in closer to him. “I’m glad you were there,” she whispers, her voice suddenly turned soft. “I’m…I’m glad she wasn’t on her own. But…she still made her choices.”

Conflicted, he squeezes her shoulder. He understands why she feels the way she does but there’s something he still hasn’t told her. His heart rate speeds up at the thought of coming clean. It crosses his mind to wait until the morning, until Danny’s awake. _Coward,_ a voice in his head says. 

Taking another deep breath, he tells her about the money, about the bank accounts his Mom set up for them.

Mary goes still. He’s not even sure she’s breathing. “Mary? Did you hear me? Mom did it for us—”

“I heard you—”

“Then what do you think—”

Shrugging off his arm, she gets to her feet. “What do want me to say? That I’m pleased? That I’m grateful?”

He stares back at her, his exhausted mind struggling to keep up. She’s furious, spitting out her words. “No. No. I’m just…she had regrets, okay? About us, about how things worked out and—”

“—she thought she could make everything alright with money? _Stolen _money?”

“That’s not what I’m saying—”

“It sure sounds like it from where I’m standing—”

“Mommy?”

Joanie’s called out from her bedroom. They both freeze. Silence falls, a sharp contrast to a moment before when they’d raised their voices.

Mary glares at him. “It’s okay, baby. I’m coming.”

He waits until she’s disappeared down the hallway. Then slowly he collapses back into the couch. Listening to the quiet murmur of Mary’s voice reassuring Joanie is calming: his eyes drift closed. 

Panicked at the thought of another nightmare he forces them open again.

Digging his fingers in his thigh, he forces himself to stay awake. The dark warmth of the living room is seductive though. He’s relieved when Mary reappears, gesturing with a nod a towards the kitchen.

Levering his body out of the couch, he follows her. She closes the kitchen door before switching on the light. He watches as she pulls two glasses and a bottle of whiskey out of a cupboard. Putting them on the worktop, she offers him a glass. 

He shakes his head. She pours him a drink anyway.

“It’ll help us sleep,” she says, pushing the glass into his good hand. “Bottoms up.”

He hesitates, but only for a second. She’s wrong, it won’t help him sleep or stop the nightmares. It will, however, take the edge off the anxiety and anger that’s itching under his skin. He sips at it as he watches Mary finish hers off in three gulps. As she pours herself another, he puts his glass down. He can’t do this, not tonight. “I need to go check on Danny.”

“He’s still asleep.” The bottle clinks against the glasses as she fills them again. “I checked already.” Pulling out a stool from under the worktop, she sits down. She offers him back his glass.

Not making eye-contact, he takes it from her. It’s good whiskey, it would be shame to waste it. And where else is he going to go?

Mary wraps her arms around herself, nursing the glass against her chest. Tucking her legs under the stool, she gets comfortable. She’s wearing slippers with bunny ears on them, he notices vaguely. They look like a pair she had as a kid.

“We never asked for anything but to be her children, for her to love us like a Mom.”

Blinking himself back to the present, he stares into his own glass. He forgets sometimes how perceptive she is: in just a few words she’s summed up their feelings so well. He’d said much the same to Danny, back in Washington. But still, their Mom’s dead – for real this time. He was there and he couldn’t stop it happening. He couldn’t help his Dad either.

“Joanie’s not going to remember her grandmother. Doesn’t that bother you?”

Mary takes a gulp of her whiskey. She grimaces as it goes down. “She didn’t know her anyway. You can’t fix everything.”

Her faux-casual tone grates with his simmering anger. “Family’s important, Mare.”

Mary wraps her arms tighter around her body. Head down, she stares into her glass. “You’re important. When are you going to get that into your thick skull?”

Slowly, he lowers his glass. “What?”

Her head comes up, her eyes flashing with anger as she meets his gaze. “You could have died in Mexico. What about me then, huh? What about _Danny_?”

His breath hitches in his chest. Putting his glass down, he raises a warning finger. “Not now. Don’t go there—”

“Don’t go where? To the truth?”

Shaking his head, he takes a step back, then another. There’s a loud buzzing sound in his head. It’s time to get out. “Danny would have been safe and that’s what’s important—"

“What is _wrong_ with you? Do you know how much I worry about you? It must have much worse for Danny. He knew what was happening, how dangerous it was.”

“Stop.”

“I’m tired of sticking my head in the sand, pretending I don’t care—”

The door is closer than he thinks: he bumps into the door frame. His body’s yelling at him to fight or run. Turning to leave, he shakes his head. “Not now—”

“Who’s Matt?”

Reaching out blindly he grabs the door frame. “Why?”

Mary’s voice drops so he can barely hear it. “Danny yelled it when he was having his nightmare.”

He opens his mouth to answer but his throat has closed up. It feels like forever before he turns round and tells her about Colombia, his words coming out in a flat staccato. It’s a shortened version, without most of the violence. Mary reads between the lines though: her eyes widen with horror. They glisten with tears in the half-light.

His body’s still telling him to run for it. But his need to comfort her wins out. She walks into his arms and they cling on to each other, like they always have when times get tough.

Eventually she pulls away from him. “Shit. This is so messed up,” she says, rubbing her nose on the arm of her pajama top. “My therapist is going to have a field day.”

Hands on her shoulders, he bends down to look into her face. “You have a therapist?”

“Sure,” she replies, sniffing. “I started seeing someone before I adopted Joanie. I…I wanted to make things right for her, not, you know, repeat what Mom and Dad did.”

Pride makes him pull her back in for another hug. “You _are_. You will.

She smiles, shyly. “I know, but some days…some days are harder than others, you know?”

He kisses the top of her head before letting her go again. “You never told me. I could have helped—"

“It’s easier to talk to someone you don’t know. Who doesn’t know you.” She meets his gaze, holds it. “You should try it.”

Before he can stop himself the familiar words slip out of his mouth: “I’m okay.”

Huffing, she puts the stopper back in the whiskey bottle. “You’re so far from okay I don’t know where to start.”

_She’s not wrong_, a voice in his head says. It sounds just like Danny. “I don’t like talking.”

Her expression turns serious. “Promise me you’ll think about it.”

Crossing his arms, he studies his feet. They’re bare. Suddenly he realises they’re cold.

“Do it for Danny.” Her bunny rabbit slippers appear in his vision as she steps up to him. “You’re…you’re not as fun to be around anymore.”

“Hey.” Stung, he looks up. “I can be fun…” He stutters to a halt as he registers her expression. She’s gently making fun of him. He’s grateful that she’s pulling them back into more familiar territory – kind of.

“So. You and Danny. What happened?”

Exhaling loudly, he quirks an eyebrow at her. “It’s called a private life for a reason, Mare.”

“You’ve been mooning over him for years.”

“Have not,”

“Have.”

“What are you, five?”

“All those times I’ve seen you change your tee-shirt in front of him. That was for, for what, personal hygiene reasons?”

Despite everything, he feels himself smiling. “It’s humid in Hawaii. I sweat. A lot.”

She gives him a knowing look. “Especially around Danny.”

“_Mary_…”

She nudges him with her shoulder. “C’mon. We both need cheering up. Tell me what happened.”

Letting out a long-suffering sigh that he knows she’ll appreciate, he pulls out another stool and settles in. “Okay. So, Danny got back together with Rachel. This time it felt like it was going to work.” He takes a deep breath. “I was happy for him, I really was.”

Mary lets out a snort as she reclaim her stool, beside him. “That’s bullshit.”

He looks down his nose at her. “He deserves to be happy. If that means he’s with Rachel then I’m good with that.”

“I could shake you right now, you know that?”

“Try it.”

“Get on with the story.”

Rolling his eyes, he continues. “So, I figured I’d take a page out of your playbook and I started dating. And it went okay.” Tilting his head, he reconsiders that. “Okay. Maybe it didn’t. We got banned from the dog park.”

“We?”

“Danny and me.”

“Ah.” 

“He was trying to be helpful.”

She tilts her head, mirroring him. “Because he wanted to see you happy too?”

“Yeah.”

“And Rachel?”

“They decided it wouldn’t work so…”

“Please tell me you declared your undying love for him.”

“Undying love?”

She grins, wickedly. “Like in the movies.”

He’s too tired for this he thinks, vaguely. But Mary’s smiling and it’s not just because she’d been drinking whiskey. He’ll find the energy from somewhere.

“We’re not in a movie.”

“We are. Kind of.” Her smile grows as he rolls his eyes. “Come on. No one would believe this is our life.”

“Whatever.” Puffing out his cheeks, he plays along. “No, I didn’t declare my undying love. He’d just split up with Rachel for crying out loud.”

“You know what I’m going to say next don’t you?”

Raising his eyebrows, he holds her gaze. “Surprise me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Not surprised.” Crossing his arms, he raises his chin. “It wasn’t totally my fault okay? Danny was still fixing me up with dates. He was worried about me. You know…after Joe and everything. I think he figured…it’d make me feel better or something. It didn’t. I tried to tell him but he didn’t get it and then we had an argument and—"

The way she throws her arms in the air speaks volumes. “You’re both self-sacrificing idiots, you know that right?”

He huddles down into his shoulders. “It made sense at the time.”

She nudges him again, more gently. “Do you love him?”

He doesn’t need to think: “Yeah.”

Humming under her breath, she leans closer into him. “Aunt Deb would be happy. She liked him.”

He leans too, so their shoulders are touching. “I wish she was here.” 

“Me too.”

They sit in silence for a while, both lost in their thoughts. The whiskey’s working its way into his bloodstream. It was only a few sips but on an empty stomach and he’s starting to remember why he doesn’t drink it: it makes him maudlin. 

Sighing, he rubs both hands across his face. “I’m worried I’m gonna screw this up. We only had three days and then—"

“But they were good, right?”

Lowering his hands, he nods mutely.

“So you’ll feel like that again.”

She makes it sound so simple. He wants to believe her, he really does. But there’s one other big emotional hang-up they both share. And the whiskey is making it feel very real right now. “People leave. All the time. All of this…what if it happens again? I don’t know what I’ll do if Danny can’t handle it and—"

“Then Mom’s won.”

There’s a note of cold determination in her voice that makes him pay attention. “Hey. She’s not..she wasn’t the _enemy_.”

The soles of her bunny slippers slap on the floor as she gets up and puts the whiskey away. “It’s taken me years to learn how to deal with what happened to us,” she says, turning her back to him. “Joanie’s kept me sane. And Danny’s been standing next to you all this time, doing the same for you. If you can’t see that you’re being an even bigger idiot than normal.”

Now they’re not looking at each other, it’s easier to be truthful. The words still stick in his throat though. “I’m…I’m scared.”

Mary’s shoulders slump. “You don’t think I am, every day?”

Sighing, he gets up. Gently, he turns her round. “She was a good mom. Before she left. So are you.”

Wrapping her arms around his waist, looks up at him. “She did love us. I know that.”

“One foot in front of the other huh?” he says, pulling her close. “That’s what Danny keeps telling me to do,” he explains when she raises her eyebrows. “Just keep putting one foot in front of the other.”

Her lips quirk up in a half-smile. “He’s a good man.”

“The best.” He studies her for a moment. She’s not the little girl he left at the airport all those years ago. She’s worked so hard to build this life for her and Joanie. He’s beyond proud of her. He never wants to loose her. “We okay?”

She rolls her eyes, then squeezes him tight. “Duh. Of course we are.” Pulling away, she yawns widely. “This has been fun,” she says dryly, “but I’ve got a children’s birthday party to go to tomorrow. Six year olds. Twenty two of them. All high on sugar,” she adds, pecking a kiss on his cheek and shuffling towards the door. “I need sleep. So do you.”

“Right behind you,” he replies.

He waits as she disappears from sight, leaving the door open behind her. Then he picks up his glass, swishing what’s left of the whiskey. Breathing deeply, he downs the rest of it in one gulp. His eyes are watering from the whiskey burn in his throat as he puts the empty glass in the sink. Switching off the kitchen light, he closes the door behind him.

Standing in the living room, he hesitates. The lure of curling up in bed with Danny is like siren call – almost impossible to ignore. Danny needs his sleep though. He takes the couch instead.

Mary’s left the throw and pictures out. The throw he rolls up and uses as support for his aching shoulder. The picture album he puts on the floor, giving him space to stretch out. Staring at the ceiling, he tries to think good thoughts. The whiskey has other ideas though. It’s not long before he finds himself flicking through the picture album. 

His vision blurs.

“_I’m sorry, Dad_,” he thinks, running his fingers over the picture of the four of them at the beach together. “_I tried to bring her home. I really did_.”

To be continued...


	6. Danny

**Chapter six**

_The Five 0 team’s locker room used to be someone’s office. Steve commandeered it the week he set up the team. Steve’s argument had been that the State’s task force needed somewhere private to go, any time of the day or night. The Governor had taken some convincing: reluctantly she’d added a private bathroom with a shower. _

_ It’s only got one row of lockers, with a bench running along one side. Chin and Kono’s names are still on two of them: underneath are new stickers with Tani and Junior’s names scribbled on in Steve’s handwriting. Sometimes they use it as a place to catch up in the morning, before works starts. Mostly it’s used as a quiet place to decompress. The second week of its use Steve had put a sign up outside to show when it was ‘busy’. It’s an unspoken rule amongst the team that the sign is honoured._

_This room has been Danny’s hiding place while Steve’s been in Mexico. During the day, when pretending everything’s okay becomes too much, this is where he’s been hiding out. In here he doesn’t have to smile and reassure the team that Steve’s absence is just temporary. He doesn’t have to convince them that today might just be the day Steve walks back in._

_It’s where he escapes to after Steve finally – _finally _– surfaces in Mexico._

_His spine jars as his backside hits the locker room bench. Slumping forward he rests his head in his hands. His chest is tight, like it’s being squeezed in a vice. Blood’s pulsing through his head, like a beat of a drum. _

_Closing his eyes he takes a shuddering breath. It’s been the longest eight weeks of his life. Every night he’s laid awake worrying about Steve, imagining what’s happening to him. Every time his phone’s rung his heart’s leapt out of his chest. It’s taken everything he has to hold on, to keep going. Seeing Steve on the screen, it’s almost tipped him off the edge._

_He’d thought that knowing where Steve was, that he’s _alive_, would be easier. Relief and fear combined, it turns out, is much worse. Steve’s body language, the unkempt beard, the long hair, all of it speaks volumes: things are bad. Real bad._

_He needs to pace. To move. To do _something_. Most of all he wants to be out there, leading the rescue op to help Steve. He can’t though. He promised._

_Opening his eyes, he slumps back against the wall. Rubbing at the bridge of his nose does nothing to ease his headache. Clenching his hands into fists, he fights the urge to hit something. Finally, he can’t hold it in any longer:_

_“Fuck you, Steven.”_

_Guilt makes him hang his head in shame. But only for a second. The anger’s soon back, swamping him. Anger at the CIA, the Navy, at Joe, at Catherine, at Jenna, at every person who’s ever taken advantage of Steve’s need to fix everybody and everything. Mostly though, he’s angry at Doris. _

_The long, lonely nights have given him plenty of opportunity to decide what he’s going to say to Doris when he sees her. It’s not going to be pretty._

_Shaking his head, he tries to blank that thought. Whatever he might think of her, she’s Steve’s mom. And Steve’s the man he wants to spend the rest of his life with._

_He snorts at his own stupid, delusions. They’ve only had three days together. Happy ever after is still a long way off. Assuming it ever comes their way._

_Unable to sit still any longer, he starts pacing. Smoothing his hair back with both hands he walks to the end of the room, turns, repeats. He needs to get back out there and pretend that he isn’t sleeping with the Head of Five 0, that his heart isn’t so heavy that he can barely breathe, that getting out of bed every morning isn’t getting harder every day._

_“Danny? You in there?”_

_His heart speeds up: Lou’s on the other side of the door. Glancing around, he looks for a way out. There’s one, small window. For an insane moment he considers climbing out of it. Self-preservation kicks in: there’s a twenty foot drop on the other side. _

_“Danny?”_

_Licking his lips, he forces his mouth to work. “Er…yeah…give a minute, okay?”_

_Silence falls. He doesn’t need to listen to know that Lou’s out there, still waiting. Ever since Steve left Lou’s been inviting him out for beers regularly. He’s had dinner at his house a few times too. _

_“Okay. I’m coming in.”_

_Frozen to the spot, he’s powerless to do anything as the door opens. He feels like his heart’s exposed, ripped out for the world to see. He tries to smile, to don the façade he’s been wearing for weeks now._

_He’s too late._

_Lou shuts the door behind him. “Want to tell me what’s going on?” he asks quietly. _

_He meets Lou’s eyes, holds his gaze. He’s too tired to hold it together, to pretend any more. The secret he’s been keeping is slowly suffocating him. He has to let it out…_

“Uncle Danny? Are you awake?”

He comes awake with a start. Eyes darting around wildly, he struggles to get his bearings. Something prods him in the ribs. The touch is enough to drag him away from Hawaii and back to California. Blinking, everything gradually comes into focus.

Joanie’s face is just inches from his. Sucking on her bottom lip, she’s studying him closely. There’s a gap where her two front teeth should be. She looks even cuter than he remembers.

“Uncle Danny?”

“I’m awake,” he mumbles, rolling away to stop her prodding him in the ribs again, “I’m awake.”

“Good,” she says, with a determined tone that instantly reminds him of Mary. “Mommy says breakfast is ready.”

Before he can answer she’s sliding off the bed. As she runs out of the bedroom – announcing loudly to anyone who’s listening that ‘Uncle Danny’s awake now’ – he flops over onto his back. Staring at the ceiling, he tries to take stock of his situation.

His limbs feels heavy, like he’s been working out. His brain feels like it’s been running at a million miles an hour. _Nightmares are a bitch, _he thinks, rubbing at his eyes with his finger and thumb. 

Gradually it all comes back to him. The nightmare: finding Matt’s body in Colombia. Steve wrapping his arms around him, lulling him to sleep. And he had slept, he’s pretty sure of that. A quick check of his phone confirms that: it’s just gone 10am. And there’s no sign of Steve.

Cursing under his breath, he scrambles out of bed. Steve’s side of the bed is cold, barely slept in. He could be anywhere right now. Pulling on his jeans and tee-shirt he listens for clues to where he might be. Mary and Joanie are in the kitchen, talking quietly. But that’s it - apart from a banging noise.

Still dopey from sleep he goes to investigate. He doesn’t have to go far: Mary’s waiting for him in the kitchen doorway. She’s dressed already but she looks frayed around the edges. And tired, he thinks with a sinking heart. She looks more tired than the day before.

“He’s repairing the shower,” she explains, quietly. “You want coffee?”

“Sure,” he replies. Her tone is sending off warning signals in his brain. He’s got questions. But Joanie’s sitting in the kitchen, eating cereal. She grins shyly then goes back to stirring her cereal. He’s not fooled – she’s following everything that’s going on. “You get some sleep?”

Handing over his coffee, Mary nods. “I did. Steve came sat with me. We talked.”

He tests his coffee. It’s hot and bitter. He’s not going to feel dopey from sleep much longer. “That’s good,” he says slowly, struggling to read her expression. “I mean, it is good, right?”

“Yeah. I think…I wish we’d done it sooner.” The corner of her lips flick up in a fond smile. Then the smile’s gone. Her eyes flicker in the direction of the bathroom and back again. “He got a phone call this morning.”

Lou and the team are holding the fort back in Hawaii. There’s no way they would have let a call about work get through to Steve. As the banging starts up again, he takes his coffee and goes to investigate.

Work tools are spread across the bathroom floor. The shower is in bits, the shower head dangling off the wall. Steve’s standing in the shower cubicle, a hammer in his hands. There’s no sign of the sling or a dressing on his shoulder. There is a smudge of grease on his forehead: his hands are covered in it. A flash of guilt crosses his face – then he carries on hammering.

Leaning against the doorframe he takes a sip of his coffee, willing the caffeine to kick in. “What you doing?”

Steve gestures with the hammer. “What does it look like?”

“Was it broken?”

Steve hits the wall again. “It was dripping.”

“Dripping, huh?”

“Yeah. Dripping.” Lowering the hammer, Steve rests his hands on his hips. It’s not a relaxed pose. “You got a problem?”

“No. No.” Taking a breath, he gestures at the scene in front of him. “I’m just saying…. I think… Maybe this is overkill?”

“I’m _fixing_ it, Danny.”

“I can see that.” He takes a gulp of coffee. Then another. “You wanna tell me who called?”

“The CIA.”

Steve’s said it so casually it takes a second to register. Dread creeps up his spine. “What do they want?”

Steve’s answering shrug seems casual. Relaxed. The way he’s tapping the hammer on his thigh suggests the opposite. “They’ve got a few questions for me.”

“They couldn’t just ask you on the phone?”

“Doesn’t look like it, does it?” Steve turns back to the shower. “Local CIA office. Got to be there at midday.”

“You could have said no.” The words are out of his mouth before he realises. Steve’s got his back to him: his shoulders tense. Taking the words back isn’t an option though. And he doesn’t want to.

He’s angry.

“Did you hear me?” he asks, pushing himself away from the wall. “You don’t have to go, Steve.”

Steve’s shoulders slump. “Yes, I do.”

“Just call them—”

“And then what, Danny?” Steve swings round. His eyes are flashing with anger. His body is tense, ready to fight.

“All I’m saying is you don’t have to do what they say—”

“They’ll come to the house. While Mary and Joanie are here.”

He meets Steve’s eyes. His heart aches at the fear he sees lurking there. “That won’t happen, babe,” he promises, softly. “We’re not going to let them anywhere near them. Okay?”

Steve nods, tight, jerky. “Okay.”

“Okay.” 

Steve’s still holding the hammer, tapping it against his thigh. As much as he hates the CIA – and in particular the people who are hounding Steve – he can’t let Steve meet them in this frame of mind. 

Slowly, he takes a step forward. Then he takes another. Steve’s watching warily but at least he hasn’t moved. Encouraged he keeps moving until they’re just inches apart. Stretching up on tip toe, he kisses Steve on the lips.

At first nothing happens. It’s like kissing a statue. Crushing disappointment starts creeping up on him. Instinct is telling him to back off. Then Steve cups the back of his head, dragging them together. Suddenly they’re kissing again. It’s desperation, love, exhaustion and anger, wrapped together. There’s nothing romantic about it at all. 

Kissing Steve hard one last time, he pulls back to study him. What he sees makes him worry even more. “I’m driving,” he insists, quietly. “You’re not going in there on your own.”

Steve sighs, a bone-deep weary sound. There’s still a hint of defiance in his eyes though as starts tidying up his tools. “Okay. But we need to go to Home Depot on the way back. I need parts to fix this up.”

The shower. Running a hand over his chin, he curses silently. His beard is growing in. His skin feels mucky after a restless night’s sleep. “Please, _please_ tell me it’s still working.”

Steve pauses. Glancing around at the carnage in the bathroom, he tugs on his ear lobe. The ends of his lips flick up nervously. “I haven’t touched the sink.”

H50H50H50

The local CIA office is in non-descript building. Any doubts about being in the right place are dispelled by the security detail on the front desk. Wearing white shirts, dark suits and packing badly concealed handguns they’re textbook CIA. 

A quick check of their ID gets them visitor badges and directions to the elevator. As soon as it starts moving, Danny tries to weave his fingers through Steve’s. When Steve pulls away it’s not surprising. He knows what Steve’s doing: he’s shutting himself off, preparing for the interview. If their roles were reversed he’d do the same. 

It still makes his heart ache though. As the elevator announces they’ve arrived at their destination, he grabs Steve’s hand. Raising it to his lips, he lets it go again. 

Startled, Steve blinks. The expressionless mask he’s been wearing starts to slip. For a second Steve looks younger, less weary. Then the elevator doors ping open and the moment is lost.

Biting back a sigh, he follows Steve down the corridor. Steve’s moving fast, checking each room number with a glance then moving on. They gain a few interested looks from people walking by. He challenges each of them with a hard glare. It’s the damn CIA’s fault they both look like they’ve been sleeping rough.

His bad mood doesn’t improve when they find the office. There are two CIA agents waiting outside. Instantly he knows they’re trouble. It doesn’t take them long to prove him right.

“I’m sorry, Mr Williams. You can’t come into the interview room.”

Beside him, Steve draws himself up to his full height. “It’s _Detective_ Williams.”

The agent has the good sense to look apologetic. “Detective Williams. This case is classified and—”

Steve seems to grow even taller. He looms over all of them. “Danny knows everything about it.”

The second agent steps in, his gaze switching between them. “That may well be so, Commander. Never the less, Detective Williams isn’t coming in.”

He’s on the verge of protesting. The second agent’s tone of voice stops him dead. He knows that tone: he’s used it plenty of times on suspects. He’s not getting into that interview room.

Steve’s got the message too. Nostrils flaring, he gestures towards the office. “Okay. Let’s get this over with.”

He waits until they’re at the door before speaking. “Steve?”

Steve turns. One eyebrow flicks up. “Danny?”

“Try not to kill these schmucks, babe.”

Steve grins. It’s all teeth. Wolfish. Then the door closes and he’s left on his own.

Holding on to the image of Steve grinning, he tries to calm down. Steve’s got this, he tells himself sternly. There’s nothing to worry about.

Needing a distraction, he checks out the area around him. In a pathetic nod to normality there’s a waiting area. They’ve even added a coffee table, water and mints. The water he helps himself to. The mints he uses as ammunition, throwing them at a CIA recruitment poster on the wall. 

The satisfaction of using the grinning faces on the poster for target practice wears off quickly. Collecting up all the mints he’s thrown he puts them in the trash can. Then he settles down with his phone and starts writing an email to Rachel about Charlie’s birthday.

He’s halfway through it when he gets a text from Mary. It’s accompanied with a picture of Joanie: she’s wearing a princess party dress and her face is covered in cake icing. Grinning despite his bad mood he saves it, to show to Steve later. Then he texts Mary back, reassuring her they’re both alright.

Flicking up a blank notes page, he writes down the ingredients he needs for his grandmother’s recipe for lasagne. He’ll cook it tonight, along with garlic bread. It’s the least he – _they _\- can do he decides, remembering the carnage in the bathroom that morning. The fact that’s it’s Steve’s favourite isn’t a coincidence either.

He’s almost finished when he hears raised voices: it’s coming from where Steve and the CIA agents are. He’s already putting his phone away when there’s a shout and a loud crash. Five long strides and he’s shouldering his way through the door.

What he sees on the other side makes his breath catch. In the centre of the room there’s a table and four chairs. The CIA agents are on one side, halfway out of their chairs. Steve’s on the other: he’s standing, his chair is lying on the floor.

“Babe? You okay?” he asks, his hand automatically searching out his non-existent weapon. 

“Stand down,” the agents yell, getting to their feet.

His heartrate rockets. His vision narrows down to Steve. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion. Then the agents reach for their weapons.

Without thinking, he puts himself in front of Steve.

“Let’s just talk about this,” he soothes, years of training kicking in. Risking a glance back over his shoulder, he checks on Steve. His blood runs cold. Steve’s eyes are dark, hard as flint. Steve hasn’t just switched off: he’s in SEAL mode. “Someone want to tell me what the hell were you talking about?”

He’s talking to the CIA agents. But it’s Steve who answers:

“They want to know if I’ve ever taken money.”

Steve’s voice is low, almost a growl. He has to strain to understand him. “What?”

“My Mom. They want to know if I’ve ever taken any money from her.”

His frown grows. He’s struggling to understand. “The bank accounts? You didn’t know about those, I told you about them—”

“We’re not talking about the bank accounts.”

He whips his head round to face the CIA agent who’s spoken. “Come again?”

“We asked the Commander if he’d ever accepted money from his mother.”

Slowly, the words start to sink in. In the pit of his belly anger starts to unfurl. “You’re asking if he ever accepted stolen money?”

“Danny—”

Holding up one hand, he doesn’t look back at Steve. “We’re talking, babe.”

“Mr Williams—”

“_Detective_,” he grinds out, taking a step forward. “It’s Detective Williams.”

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Why are you asking him about the money?” He pauses, trying to read their faces. He doesn’t like what he sees. “You’re not talking about the bank accounts, are you? You’re asking if he was working with his mom.”

“You need to leave.”

“Have you read his service record?”

“Detective—”

“Have you?”

“I understand why you’re upset but there are questions we have to ask—”

“I haven’t…I never took money from her.”

Steve’s voice is full of anger and hurt. Blindly he reaches back. He finds Steve’s chest, rests his hand there. “I know you didn’t.”

“They were…they think Mary took money too.”

The world comes to a halt. He can feel Steve’s chest rising and falling. He can hear Steve’s breaths coming faster now. Across from him the CIA agents are still watching. Their jackets are flicked back, their hands resting on their holstered guns.

Behind him, Steve takes a step forward. Locking his elbow, he pushes him back.

“We’re leaving,” he tells them, raising a hand in warning. “This interview’s over. We’re done.”

“Just a minute—”

“We’re done.”

Getting 170 pounds of furious Navy SEAL moving is difficult but he’s got anger and adrenaline on his side. The next few minutes pass in a blur as he nudges, cajoles and finally pushes Steve out of the building. By the time they get back in the car he’s sweating. His heart’s pounding against his ribs.

Steve sits silently in the passenger seat. Arms crossed, lips clamped together, he’s vibrating with barely-contained anger. 

Turning on the engine, he wills his hands to stop shaking. Puffing out his cheeks, he puts the car into drive. “Let’s go home.”

Steve stirs. “We need to go to Home Depot.”

“What?”

“The shower, remember?”

He tightens his grip on the steering wheel. “You want to do that _now_?”

Steve’s expression turns mulish. “It’s not going to fix itself.”

Taking a breath, he silently counts to ten. There’s no way he’s taking Steve into somewhere like Home Depot. Not right now. “How about if I come back later—”

“It needs fixing now.”

“Steve—”

“I don’t see what your problem is—”

_The problem is you’re barely holding on, babe. _“Okay. Okay, How about I drive us to Home Depot. You give me the list of what you need and I get it? How about that?”

Steve stares out of the window. Finally he nods.

Taking that as agreement, he starts up the car. They pass the drive to Home Depot in silence. Steve’s bent over his phone, typing furiously with both thumbs. 

As he pulls into the parking lot his phone pings. A quick check of his inbox shows he’s got his shopping list. “You gonna be okay here?” he asks as he turns off the engine.

Steve stuffs his phone in his pocket. Huffing loudly, he crosses his arms. “I should come with—”

He bites back a huff of his own. “We already talked about this—”

“It was just an interview, Danny. I’m fine.”

“Just an interview?” There’s more of an edge to his voice than he’d intended. Willing himself to be calm, he tries again. “They were accusing you of stealing dirty money, of criminal activity.”

Steve shrugs. “It’s not like we haven’t stolen money before.”

“That was different and you know it.”

“Then why are you getting so upset?”

“Me?” Twisting in his seat, he forces Steve to look him in the eyes. “If I hadn’t gone in there you would have killed those guys—”

“You’re overreacting—”

“Excuse me?”

“It was just an interview—”

“You’ve got to stop saying that or help me God I’m gonna—”

“They…they had their reasons, Danny.”

“They’ve got no reason to accuse you and I don’t why you’re defending those son of a—”

Steve wraps his arms tighter round himself. “I haven’t told you everything about what happened in Mexico, before you found me.”

He freezes: there’s a note of guilt in Steve’s voice that wasn’t there before. Shaking his head, he leans his back against the door. “You didn’t take any money. I _know _that.”

Steve rubs at his beard. Backward and forward. His left knee’s bouncing as he taps his foot. Staring out of the window he looks haunted. Trapped. “I…I met mom, before you guys found me. In Mexico. They thought…they thought maybe it was planned. A drop-off.”

“A drop-off? Of money?” Chewing at his bottom lip, he processes this new information. Mentally he dismisses the money: it’s not that important. Reaching out, he rests his hand on Steve’s knee. Gently, he squeezes. “Did you talk to her? What did she say?”

Steve doesn’t answer straight away. Eventually he breathes out, deep and slow. “Do you mean was she glad to see me?”

His heart fills with dread. “Was she?”

“She was worried I would blow her cover. She…she got angry.”

Steve’s turned his face away, making it impossible to read him. There’s no mistaking the pain in his voice though. Silently cursing Doris, he leans in closer. “What happened, babe?“

There’s another pause. It’s longer this time. “She hit me.”

For a moment he thinks he must have misheard him. Then he remembers who they are talking about. “Steve—”

“She hit me with her gun.” Steve raises his hand. He taps his temple with his forefinger. One, sharp tap. “Here.”

Silence falls. He knows he should say something but he’s too angry to form the words. He wants to make Doris feel the pain that he can hear in Steve’s voice. He wants to explain to her, as a father, just how much she screwed up her children’s lives. And he can’t because she’s dead.

He hits the steering wheel in frustration. “_Fuck.”_

Steve turns back, his eyes wide with worry. “Danny, stop, it’s okay—”

“It’s not okay.”

Steve raises a hand. “She had to. If I’d blown her cover—”

“No she didn’t—”

“It was her job, Danny.”

The hurt and pain in Steve’s eyes makes him feel sick to the pit of his stomach. But there are words burning in his throat that he’s been holding back for months. _Months. _There’s no way he can stop them now. “She was your mom, Steve. She was supposed to protect you.”

Steve’s eyebrows drop into one angry line. “She did. That’s why she left—”

“So why did she come back again and leave, huh? That wasn’t her protecting you, babe. She was selfish and—”

“Have you been talking to Mary?”

The question throws him. “What?”

“Nothing,” Steve mutters, turning away again.

He opens his mouth then closes it. His brain feels like it’s been riding on an emotional rollercoaster. He’s got nothing left to give. He starts the engine. “Let’s go home.”

Steve sits upright. “No—”

Ignoring him, he puts the car into drive. Steve sounds angry. Almost threatening. But he’s angry too. What he – what _they_ \- need right now is somewhere quiet. And that isn’t a busy branch of Home Depot. Not with Steve in his current emotional state.

He lets the handbrake off.

Steve leans over and puts the handbrake back on.

“What are you doing—“

Steve doesn’t say anything. He’s opening his door.

Warm air rushes in from the outside. People are laughing as they walk across the parking lot. A child screams in protest as they’re lifted into a shopping cart. There’s traffic noise and a car horn honking. 

Steve flinches.

Instinctively he leans over Steve to close the door again. Pain shoots through the bones in his wrist - Steve’s grabbed it. His grip is vice-like. It’s painful as hell. He curses loud and hard.

Instantly the pain stops. Steve’s removed his hand.

He flexes his wrist and fingers carefully. The skin’s tingling, turning red. Bringing his eyes up to meet Steve’s he checks them for awareness. What he sees is horror and shock. He reaches out then freezes: the anger’s still lurking in there, dark and lethal.

He’s paralysed by a wave of indecision. Getting out of the car now, it’s not who he is. But if he stays now he’s afraid of what they’ll say to each other. And he’s not ready to give up on this relationship yet.

Throwing the keys on the dashboard, he opens his door and gets out. Sparing a glance towards Home Depot, he starts walking in the opposite direction.

Behind him, he can hear Steve yelling his name. _Don’t look back, _his head is telling him, even though his heart is telling him to get back there. _Whatever you do, don’t look back._

_To be continued…_


	7. Danny and Steve

**Danny**

_He can remember the first time Grace tried a slushy ice drink. She was three years old. They were on the beach in Jersey. It was a warm day, with clear blue skies. Grace had littered the beach with sandcastles and whizzed round like a giggling banshee as the sugar in the syrup kicked in. It had been a perfect day, the kind where he and Rachel had talked about the future, maybe even having more kids._

_The cherry syrup had got everywhere. Grace had been covered from head to toe. For weeks after he kept finding sticky patches on the rear seats of his car. Every time he did, it made him smile._

_Moving to Hawaii hit him like a bombshell. Nothing was familiar any more. It was only during Grace’s visits that life felt worth living. It was during one of her visits they discovered shave ice. _

_The flavours weren’t quite the same as in Jersey. The beaches weren’t the same either. But Grace was happy and they were together. Those brief moments gave him the energy to face each new day._

“Hey. You gonna answer that?”

The voice jolts him of his memories. Blinking, he focuses on the present. He’s sitting in small café. He’s the only customer. The sign on the wall says ‘Slushy Heaven’. The voice belongs to a young girl who’s clearing the next table. She’s not much older than Grace.

She flashes him a friendly smile. “Someone wants to get hold of you real bad,” she says, nodding at the table in front of him. “It’s been ringing like forever.”

Looking down, he realises what she’s talking about. His phone is on the table. It’s flashing at him: 8 missed calls.

He stares at it, blinking in time with each flash. He’s aware he should do something with it but his body won’t respond. Post-adrenaline brain fog. He’s familiar with it. He goes back to watching the phone blink.

“Here you go.” 

He drags his eyes away from the phone. The young girl is back. She’s carrying a tall glass filled with a pink slushy. Pushing it across the table, she holds out a long-handled spoon. 

Her friendly smile slips when he frowns at her. “It’s what you ordered, okay? Cherry flavour.”

He can’t remember ordering it. Come to that, he’s only got a vague recollection of walking in here at all. He’d been looking for somewhere cool and quiet to hide out for a while: this place ticked all the boxes. It’s on the tip of his tongue to apologise to her when she turns away, already clearing another table.

The phone buzzes again, vibrating against the table. A surge of anxiety makes his stomach cramp. Exhaling slowly, he picks the spoon up and dips it in the slushy. As the first, cold mouthful slides down his throat, the knot of anxiety starts to unwind. The brain fog starts to clear.

It tastes as good as the slushies they’d had in Jersey. It smells just as good too. He indulges himself by eating half of it. Then, reluctantly, he puts the spoon down and picks up his phone.

Lifting the phone to his ear exposes the red marks on his wrist. As if sensing his attention his wrist twinges with pain. For a second he can feel Steve’s fingers digging in there. Licking his lips, he can almost taste the anger in the air. Then suddenly it’s gone, replaced with the sweet tang of cherry syrup.

_Don’t panic,_ he tells himself, as he brings up the messages. _This is your body’s natural reaction to a stressful situation. Steve was stressed too. This can be fixed. It _will_ be fixed. _

Taking a deep breath, he plays for the first of the messages.

He’s steeling himself, as the message starts. He needs to hear Steve’s voice, to know he’s okay. But there’s a knot of worry in his chest that’s already expecting the worst.

The worry morphs into panic. It’s not Steve leaving messages. It’s Lou. Fumbling with the phone, he calls Lou back.

It barely rings once before Lou picks up. “Thank God. Where are you?”

He doesn’t realise how much weight he’s been carrying on his shoulders until he hears Lou’s voice. The relief at hearing a friendly voice is enormous. Slumping in his chair, he covers his eyes with his hand. “I fucked up, Lou.”

“What?”

He rubs at his eyes, willing himself not to cry. The post-adrenaline fog has gone but now he’s exhausted. “I pushed too hard and we were both angry and Steve…Steve he….I shouldn’t…I left him…I need to go back—”

“It’s okay, Danny. It’s okay. Steve’s on the other line. Junior’s talking to him.”

Lou’s voice is soft, full of understanding. It’s almost too much. “Is he…is he alright?”

“Junior’s on it. Just breathe for me. Just breathe.”

Latching onto Lou’s voice, he takes his advice. His chest is tight, constricting his breathing. He’s not surprised Lou’s picked up on it; he’s barely able to speak. Annoyed with himself, he takes another breath. He’s been in much worse situations than this. This shouldn’t be so _hard_.

“What happened?”

Closing his eyes, he grips the phone tighter. “Doris and the CIA happened.” There’s silence at the other end and he knows Lou gets it. Lou’s experienced the fallout before. Rubbing his eyes, he opens them again. “Look, can I call you back? I left Steve in the car and I need…I need to—”

“He’s at home. At Mary’s.”

The word’s don’t compute in his brain. “No. No. We were at Home Depot and—”

There’s another pause. “He drove home.”

_Shit. _“He shouldn’t be driving. He could have killed him—”

“He knows that. It’s why he called us.” There’s a heavy pause. Lou sighs. “He’s…he’s having difficulty remembering the drive home.”

“Why didn’t he just call me?” Panic brings him to his feet. He pushes his chair back. “I need to get back there—”

“He says he struck you.”

He halts in his tracks. It’s not just the words that have shocked him. It’s Lou’s tone. Angry. Dangerous. Protective.

Protective of _him._

“Danny, you still there?”

Suddenly his legs feel too tired to support him. Grabbing the chair, he drops back down on it. “He didn’t hit me—”

“He said—”

“I moved too fast, okay? He grabbed my wrist. It was nothing—”

“You sure?”

He swaps the phone to his other hand. His wrist is aching, the bruising is pulsing in time to his heartbeat. Glancing over at the woman behind the counter, he wonders if she’d sell him some ice. “I’m sure.”

Lou exhales, loudly. “I’ve been where he is right now. It’s hell. For everyone. You’ve gotta tell me if you need help. You’re not in this on your own, you understand me?”

He closes his eyes against the pain in his friend’s voice. “Thanks.” Breathing out slowly, he opens his eyes. “Next round of beers are on me.”

“Just tell me when and where. You know I’ll be there.” 

Before he can reply they’re interrupted by a voice in the background: Junior’s. Everything goes muffled, like Lou’s put his hand over the phone. Frowning, he strains to hear what they’re talking about. Frustration growing, he’s about to yell down the phone when Lou comes back on the line:

“Damn Navy SEALS.”

Over the years, he’s come to recognise all of Lou’s tones. The one he’s using now – part-fond, part-exasperation – would normally signal the start of friendly banter. Today he hasn’t got the energy for that. But he appreciates the gesture. “Go on. Tell me.”

“Junior wants to track your cell phone signal.”

He’s laughing before he even realises it. “Is there a big black chopper on it’s way too?” 

“You might want to warn any folks out in the parking lot to move their vehicles.”

“He knows he could just ask me where I am, right?”

Lou’s answering snort makes him laugh even harder. “What would be the fun in that?”

Shaking his head, he sobers up. “You can tell him I’m in Slushy Heaven. I’m guessing it’s not far from Home Depot.”

“You’re guessing?” Lou sounds deadly serious again.

Pushing his chair back, he gets to his feet. Again. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah. I’m sure it has.” Lou’s voice drops, heavy with concern. “You going home?”

“You really have to ask?”

“Nobody would think bad of you if you wanted a break. You know that, don’t you?”

“Would you go back?”

“You know the answer to that.” 

“The only easy day was yesterday, right?”

Lou snorts again. “Like I said, damn Navy SEALs.” There’s another heavy pause. Longer this time. “I talked to Steve before I called you. He’s scared, man. He thinks…he thinks he’s lost you.”

The tears that have been threatening all morning are suddenly back. Rubbing furiously at his eyes, he pulls himself up straight. “He’s an idiot.”

“I’ll tell him you said that,” Lou replies, dryly.

“Don’t bother,” he shoots back, nodding at the woman behind the counter as he heads for the exit. “I’ll go and tell him myself.” 

Stepping outside, he’s hit by a wall of warm air. The sun’s bright, making him squint. Looking around, he sighs inwardly: Home Depot is just across the road. 

It says something about Steve’s state of mind, he thinks, that he didn’t walk over and check this place. It makes the urge to get home even stronger. “Tell him I’ll be back soon,” he says to Lou, as he starts walking across the road. 

“I will.” Everything goes muffled again. “Message relayed.”

“Thanks.” 

“Anything else?”

“I’m good.” Clutching the phone tighter, he weaves his way through the cars in the parking lot. It’s probably weird, he thinks, that Lou’s on the other end of the line listening to him breathing. But he can’t bring himself to end the call.

He’s almost at the store when Lou speaks again. “When you coming home?”

He steps into Home Depot. Aisles of _stuff _stretch out in front of him, as far as the eye can see. It’s as awful as he remembers. Pinching the top of his nose, he wills himself not to walk back out. “We still don’t know when the CIA will release Doris’s body.”

“Damn. What you gonna do about Charlie’s birthday?”

Turning his back on the aisles, he tucks his phone tighter to his ear. “Rachel keeps asking me the same question. Honestly, right now I’ve got no idea.”

“What does Steve think? Have the CIA given him any idea? A few days, a few weeks? I mean come on, it’s not like they have to identify the body.”

He can’t stop the sigh that escapes. “I haven’t asked him.”

“But he knows it’s Charlie’s birthday, right?”

“I gotta go.”

“Danny—"

Turning back towards the aisles, the knot of anxiety in his stomach grows. A Home Depot employee wearing a ‘Welcome’ badge and a huge grin is advancing on him. Back at Mary’s house Steve is waiting for him. Thousands of miles away his son is expecting him to be at his birthday party next week.

He licks his lips. They still taste of cherry. _Take it one step at a time, _he tells himself, repeating the advice he gave Steve back in Washington. Bracing his shoulders, he smiles weakly at the Home Depot employee. “Lou. I promise, we’ll talk later. There’s something I gotta do first…”

H50H50H50

**Steve**

Every vacation from boarding school he’d stayed at Aunt Deb’s house. The bedroom he’d used is the same one he and Danny are staying in. It’s the same one he slept in after returning from his first tour of Afghanistan. 

He has a lot of memories of this room. The days he’d spend hiding in here, wishing the vacation would never end. The nights spent staring at the ceiling, replaying the mission that had ended in an ambush and the loss of a friend. 

It’s where he always went to lick his wounds.

It feels right, then, to sit on this bed and wait for Danny. 

As he waits, his mind inevitably drifts back to Aunt Deb. During his stays, she’d always seemed to know what he needed. She didn’t judge. She’d loved with all her heart and unconditionally. After Afghanistan, he’d needed that. 

He wonders if she’d be so forgiving about his behavior today.

If he’s honest, much of what happened after they left the CIA office is a blur. He’d been angry. _So _angry. Everything he’d been bottling up since Doris’s death, it was threatening to explode. Getting out of the car, it had been the only way to keep Danny safe. Except, he hadn’t kept Danny safe.

The moment he’d struck Danny is a blur too. But the memory of flesh hitting flesh, that’s crystal clear. 

Aunt Deb would be ashamed, he thinks. But not as ashamed as he is of himself.

His phone is on the bed beside him. He’d asked Lou to tell Danny to not come back. Part of him is grateful Lou had ignored him. At the very least he owes Danny an apology. But the knowledge that he’s never going to share this bed with Danny again, that’s killing him.

_What did you expect, _a voice in his head whispers. _Nobody loves you anymore._

He shakes his head, to dislodge the memory. He’s not sixteen. He hasn’t been rejected by his father. He hasn’t just lost his Mom.

_Yes, you have. _

The image of his mother dying flashes into his mind’s eye. The heart-crushing sense of failure hits him all over again. He gasps at the intensity of it. Digging his fingers into the bed covers, he focuses on the texture of the fabric. Breathing fast, he holds on and rides it out.

He’s still struggling for air when a car pulls up outside. The front door opening makes him flinch. He gets a short respite as Danny’s footsteps fade into the kitchen. Then the bedroom door opens and Danny’s standing there. He’s carrying a Home Depot bag in each hand.

Taking a step forward, Danny places the bags on the bed. Taking a step back, he stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Got you everything on the list. Went to the grocery store too—”

“Danny—”

“I called Mary. She’s gonna stay at the party with Joanie for a while longer.” He shuffles on the spot. “It’s just you and me.”

Silence falls.

He’s always admired Danny for the way he shows his emotions. His eyes really are the window to his soul. The day they’d admitted their feelings to each other, Danny eyes had been glowing with _need_ and love. Looking Danny in the eye now, it’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done. Danny’s risked everything for him, even his heart. He’s betrayed that trust. There’s no going back. 

“Danny, I’m sorr—”

“We’re gonna talk,” Danny cuts in. His voice is low. Intense. “Don’t think you’re getting out of it. First though, I need to make one thing clear. You didn’t hit me.”

He’s shaking his head before Danny’s finished. “I did and I’m sorry—”

“You grabbed me. I moved too fast and you grabbed me. There’s a difference.”

His guilt-complex refuses to take the olive branch it’s being offered. “There is?”

“What you did, that wasn’t anger. You weren’t trying to hurt me. It was fear. You were defending yourself, babe.”

He wants to believe Danny’s version of what happened. But his mind keeps playing back that moment in the car. There’s no escaping the guilt and the shame. “I hurt you.”

“For a couple of seconds, maybe, but you let go and—”

“Show me your wrist.”

Danny pulls his hands out of his pockets. Folding his arms across his chest, he juts out his chin. “They’re just bruises. I know what you’re capable of, Steve. If you’d hit me when you’re angry we’d be having this conversation in an Emergency Room and—”

“You think that makes it _okay?”_

Danny meets his gaze, holds it. “No it doesn’t,” he says quietly. “But I know _you_. And I know how hard it is to loose someone you love the way you did, how the grief and guilt eat you up inside. I know how it feels to have that rage inside you, the urge to set it loose, to make the pain stop. So, yes, you grabbed me. And it hurt. But this is not all on you. It’s _not_. Those bastards pushed you there. There’s no way you would have done it otherwise.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I do.” 

Danny sounds so sure. The trust, the belief in him, it takes his breath away. It’s so much more than he deserves. He’d been sitting here, preparing himself for a future without Danny. It’s like his world has tilted upside down.

“Steve? You wanna say something?” Danny’s taken a few step forwards. His knees are touching the bed. Arm’s still crossed he’s watching, he’s waiting. 

He’s waiting for him to speak. 

The words aren’t coming though. And the harder he tries to articulate something, the more his panic grows. Thoughts keep slipping through his fingers. He’s sixteen again: too young to be handling his grief on his own, too old to come live with Aunt Deb like she wants.

“Babe? Help me here. What you thinking?”

One thought in his mind is stronger than the rest. “Do you still love me?”

Back in the day, he used to imagine what it would feel like to ask his Dad that question, to look him in the eye and find the truth. Now he looks at Danny’s shocked expression and wishes he hadn’t said it. It’s emotional blackmail. Danny deserves better than that.

“You really don’t know?”

He looks away, unable to face the hurt in Danny’s eyes. “Forget it,” he says, not proud of the begging tone in his voice. “I’m just…” He taps the side his head, swallows, tries again. “I’m just…everything’s screwed up, I don’t know what I’m saying—”

Danny’s cuts him off by leaning over and kissing him. Blinking with surprise, he registers the taste of cherry and _Danny. _When Danny crawls over to him his panic flares. But it’s only for a moment because Danny’s arms are enveloping him, pulling him into a hug. He breathes deep, like a man starved of oxygen and like magic, the panic starts to recede.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers into Danny’s ear, and keeps on repeating it. He’ll never be able to say it enough. Danny whispers back that it’s okay but he knows it isn’t. Everything’s a long way from okay. 

H50H50H50H50

“You need to talk to someone, babe.”

Danny’s voice rouses him from a doze. They’re stretched out on top of the bed, side by side. Danny’s arm is slung around his shoulders. His head is resting on Danny’s chest. He’s still being stalked by anxiety: he can feel it bubbling in his chest. But at least his mind doesn’t feel like it’s about to explode.

“Steve?”

Reluctantly he raises his eyes to meet Danny’s. His heart skips a beat at the concern he sees there. He knows what Danny’s asking. He’s been telling himself the same thing all afternoon. That doesn’t make it any easier to say it out loud. “There’s a helpline for veterans. I’ll call them tomorrow.”

Danny squeezes his shoulder. “You won’t be on your own.”

Stretching up, he kisses Danny’s lips. The thought of talking to a counsellor fills him with dread. Having Danny with him, that’s what will get him through the counsellor’s door, even on the bad days.

Especially on the bad days.

As if sensing his anxiety, Danny starts kneading the back of his neck. When Danny presses harder, he hums his consent. His neck and shoulder muscles are rock-hard with tension. Danny’s touch is bliss.

He’s drifting off when a car pulls up outside. There’re voices, car doors open and shut. He’s just rubbing at his face to wake himself up, when the front door opens, then slams shut.

The noise goes off in his head like a rocket. He can’t stop himself. He flinches. Cursing, he tries to roll away.

“Ssh. It’s okay,” Danny soothes, resting his hand on the back of his neck. “It’s Mary and Joanie.”

Rolling back, he nods mutely. Nervously, he licks his lips. “Does she…does she know?”

Danny kisses him on the temple. It’s soft, barely there. “That you had a bad day? Yeah, I told her.” He pulls back so they can look each other in the eye. “You can stay in here. She won’t mind, you know that, right?”

“I know.” He considers Danny’s offer. It’s tempting. It’s been a very long day. But he’s been here before. If he can’t get off this bed for Danny and Mary – and Joanie – then the chances are he’ll never get off it. Breathing deeply, he sits up and swings his legs off the bed.

“Great,” Danny says in a cheerful tone that doesn’t fool either of them. “I need help with the lasagne.”

Suddenly his mouth doesn’t feel so dry any more. “Your _grandma’s_ lasagne?”

“Is there any other kind?”

_No. No. There really isn’t._ For the first time in days his stomach rumbles hungrily. “Garlic bread? With cheese?”

He gets the reaction he was after: Danny scrunches his face up in disgust. “You’re a Neanderthal. No cheese. Good olive oil, garlic and herbs. That’s all it needs.”

“You love me really.” The words slip off his tongue. His breath catches. He hadn’t meant to do that, to expose that hurt again. Before he can say anything else he’s being tugged round and kissed. It’s gentle and fond, fierce and exasperated. 

“There’s something very wrong with you,” Danny mock-grumbles as they pull apart, “very wrong.”

They’re facing each other, knees touching. He studies Danny’s face. Despite everything that’s happening in his brain looking at Danny still sends a shiver of need down his spine. Tentatively he rubs his thumb across Danny’s cheek. The words slip out easily: “I love you too.” 

Danny’s eyes drift closed and for a second he thinks Danny’s avoiding eye contact. That maybe he’s said the wrong thing. Then Danny bites his bottom lip and he gets it: it’s relief he’s trying to hide. Wrapping his hand around Danny’s, he squeezes it in silent apology.

Danny’s eyes open. His mouth curves into a warm smile. “Goof,” he says softly, squeezing back.

Silence falls over them. Hands still linked, they draw strength from each other. 

Joanie runs down the hallway, giggling loudly.

His heart rate starts creeping up again.

Danny reaches in for one more kiss. The corners of his eyes crinkle with encouragement as he gets off the bed. “When you’re ready, babe. No rush.”

He waits until Danny leaves, closing the door behind him. Then he sags with relief.

_Danny loves him._

He’s always known it. Danny tells him all the time. But unconditional love – as an adult – is a new experience. Love usually comes with an expiry date and broken promises. After what happened in the car he’d been expecting Danny to get up and walk away from him. It was the least he deserved.

Joanie runs back down the corridor again, a reminder of the world outside. Rubbing at his eyes, he tries to dislodge the headache behind them. He feels like he could sleep for a week.

_Lasagne, _he reminds himself, around a huge yawn. Danny’s making lasagne.

It’s enough motivation to get him moving. He’s almost out of the bedroom, his hand on the door, when he notices the bags on the bed. He squints at them, at the Home Depot logo. Gradually the events of the morning come back to him - including what he did before he met with the CIA. 

“Aww _crap._”

To be continued…


	8. Steve

Something is pressing down on him. He’s trapped from head to foot. His legs and arms aren’t working. There are no signals coming from his brain. Deep inside his mind, he starts to panic. He’s sure there’s something he should be doing. He can’t remember what it is. Opening his eyes feels like a monumental effort. He tries anyway. 

He fails.

Off in the distance, there’s the sound of door opening and closing. Confused – there’s no door - his mind reaches out for something solid to hold on to. Finding nothing, his body delivers a dose of adrenaline. His heartbeat speeds up in reaction. Gradually all his senses kick in.

Toast, coffee and lavender. That’s what he can smell. 

There’s movement close beside him. Panic threatens again. Another scent joins the others: citrus shower gel. His mind clamps onto it. That scent, it signals safety. Instinctively he heads towards it.

Finally, he wakes up.

He takes stock.

This is Mary’s house. He’s in bed. Cocooned under the bed covers he feels safe and warm. Beyond the bed covers is reality. His Mom’s dead. It’s his fault. It’s not a reality he wants to face.

Reluctantly, he sticks his head out anyway.

Danny’s sitting beside him. He looks wide awake, dressed and freshly shaved. “Morning, gorgeous.”

Rubbing at his eyes, he wishes he had half the energy Danny’s exuding. Gorgeous is the last word he’d use to describe himself. The last time he visited a barber was before Mexico: he’s not counting the time he cut his own hair with his knife. His beard is taking on a life of it’s own again. And his body aches. God, it aches.

“Babe?”

Staring at the ceiling, he rubs his hands over his face. “Fuck. I _hate_ this.”

He’s not expecting a reply from Danny: he knows what he’s talking about. The counsellor had recommended meds to help him sleep. It was the badly concealed look of hope on Danny’s face that had persuaded him to agree to it. He knew there’d be side-effects.

Grogginess. Nausea. A constant vague sensation of having dreamed without dreaming. He’s been experiencing them all.

He’s hit by a strong waft of coffee. Lowering his hands, he realises Danny’s watching him expectantly, a mug of coffee in his hand.

Taking the hint, he slides up the bed, until he’s half-sitting against the pillows. Accepting the coffee, he blows at it to cool it down. Studying Danny over the rim of his mug, he’s relieved at what he sees: it’s obvious Danny’s slept too. 

Huffing out slowly, he takes a gulp of coffee. It’s his second appointment with the counsellor today. He’d been considering telling her he was going to discontinue the sleeping meds. He’s managed without them before, he was going to tell her, he’s sure he can again. 

_That’s not fair on Danny._

Taking another sip of coffee, he tries to block out the voice of his conscience. It’s impossible: he knows its right. This is just short-term, he reminds himself sternly. A step closer to the future he wants with Danny – the future Danny wants with him.

“Would you please stop thinking? My head hurts just watching you.”

_Easier said than done, _he thinks. But he does it anyway. Draining the mug, he meets Danny’s gaze.

Danny smiles. It’s shy and uncertain. 

The smile does odd things to his insides. Nice things. But it’s confusing too. Nudging his groggy brain to think, he finally understands what’s going on. The last time he saw that smile was during their three days together before he went up range to Mexico. It’s Danny’s way of asking if he can touch.

Oh. _Touch. _The memory of when he lost his temper in the parking lot threatens to show itself. He quashes it, hard. Swallowing, he forces himself into the present. _Danny’s fine,_ he reminds himself, _he’s fine._

He’s always known Danny loves to touch. To give comfort. It had still been a revelation to discover how much pleasure Danny got from it too. During sex, after sex. Stroking. Skin, hair, lips. Particularly his hair. Danny has a real thing for his hair.

Tilting his head, he silently gives Danny permission. As Danny gently pushes his hair off his forehead, he lets his eyes drift closed.

“Good?”

Not opening his eyes, he hums his agreement. There’s a knot of tension between his eyes that’s melting under Danny’s touch. Arching his neck further, he encourages Danny lower, until he’s rubbing circles on the back of his head. It’s good, _so _good. It would be better though if he didn’t feel like he’s been hit by a truck. Twice. Sighing deeply, he shifts deeper into the pillows. “This is _ridiculous_.”

Unperturbed, Danny carries on stroking. “Your Doc in Hawaii said this might happen,” he points out. “You’ve been working undercover, living on the edge for two months. You had the shock of your Mom dying, you were shot—”

“I’ve been shot before—”

“You were _shot_,” Danny continues, “and this exhaustion, this is your body telling you to take it easy for a while.”

“Don’t say that. It makes me sound…old.”

Danny stops stroking. “Really? That’s what you think? Why would you think that?”

He opens his eyes. Disgusted with himself, he looks away. “I dunno. Maybe because, you know, it’s the middle of the morning and I’m still in bed.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” Danny’s tone is innocent. What’s not so innocent is the way he waggles his eyebrows.

Another memory pops into his head: the last time they’d stayed late in bed together. It’s a good memory. The _best_. “I keep telling myself we’ll have that again,” he says quietly. He pauses, takes a deep breath. “We will, won’t we?”

Danny starts stroking again. “We’ll be home soon.”

Home. Hawaii. A pang of homesickness makes his stomach cramp. He wants to be back there so bad. They can’t leave though. Not without his Mom.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, he comes to a decision. “I’m gonna call the CIA again. They’ll have news by now, right?”

Danny looks like he’s sucked on a lemon. “Can we please not talk about the CIA until after we’ve eaten breakfast?”

Suddenly there’s a plate being wafted under his nose. There’s toast on it. Fresh toast. Chunky slices. Butter is melting into it, pooling onto the plate. He’d thought he was feeling nauseous. His stomach’s got other ideas. “Is that…is that freshly baked bread?”

Danny settles into the pillows beside him. He puts the plate down between them. “Joanie and I baked it this morning.”

His mouth waters with anticipation. Eagerly he takes a slice. The first bite lives up to expectation. It’s crunchy and soft in all the right ways.

“I’m guessing that’s good?”

Danny’s smile makes his heart jump. Licking butter off his fingers, he holds Danny’s gaze. When Danny’s eyes widen, he can’t help himself: he licks his fingers again. Slowly.

Gazes locked, they stare at each other - then Danny snags a slice of toast for himself, waving it between them. “Please don’t tell me that’s your idea of seduction,” he says, rolling his eyes, “because if it is I might have to rethink this thing between us.”

“This _thing_?”

“Yeah,” Danny replies, licking butter and crumbs off his lips. “This _thing_.”

“Not exactly Shakespeare, is it?”

“Suddenly you’re a Shakespeare nut? They teach you that in SEAL school? Eat your toast.”

Chuckling to himself, he takes another slice. Stuffing as much toast as he can into his mouth, he starts chewing. The toast really is very good. Swallowing, he takes another bite, smaller this time. “Don’t lie. You were enjoying it.”

He’s confident about his observation. The tips of Danny’s ears have gone bright pink. It’s his tell. Encouraged, he runs his finger across the soft, delicate skin of Danny’s ear lobe. When Danny’s eyes drift to half-mast, the corner of his lips flicking up in a half-smile, he does it again. 

He loves the feel of Danny’s skin under his fingertips. It sends a spark of desire down his spine. Except, it’s not really a spark, it’s more of a muted buzz. Disappointed, he stops stroking. He already knows this isn’t going to go where he – where _they_ \- want it to. “Danny—”

Danny opens his eyes, studies him. His smile fades. Leaning forward, he dips in a for a kiss on the lips. “Stop thinking,” he says quietly, as he pulls away again. 

“But I can’t—”

“I love kissing, babe,” Danny says, backing up his message with actions – a trail of kisses dotted along his jawline. “I’m a great kisser.”

He doesn’t need any more persuasion: Danny’s not lying about his kissing skills. Sliding his hand around the back of Danny’s neck, he pulls him close. Danny complies, with enthusiasm. Danny’s touch, his scent, it gives him energy. Loosing himself in it, he gradually feels more human. 

He can face another day.

H50H50H50H50

He forces himself to wait until Danny’s brought the car to a halt outside Mary’s house before he gets out. Just. 

Slamming the passenger door behind him, he strides indoors. Out of the corner of his eye he catches sight of Mary, sitting on the couch. Ignoring her, he carries on moving. Making it to the bedroom, he slams the door shut behind him. Stripping off the casual shirt and jeans he’s worn for his appointment with the counsellor, he drops them on the floor. Dragging on a tee-shirt, cargo pants and running shoes he turns to leave.

He stops. 

In truth, he has no idea where he’s going. All he knows is that he’s got to _move. _ His heart feels like it’s about to explode. Blood’s pulsing through his head, in time to his heartbeat: it’s making his eyes ache. Bouncing on his toes, he taps the top of his thigh impatiently. He needs out of here. And he needs to go now.

The shower’s repaired. He’s retiled the bathroom wall. The night before, over dinner, Mary had made it clear the other living areas are out of bounds if he feels the need to fix things. That leaves only one other place he can go. 

The backyard.

He wrenches the bedroom door open – and comes to halt: Danny’s standing on the other side.

“Steve—”

“Backyard,” he mutters, pushing past him. His stomach twists with guilt. There’s no stopping. He needs to be doing something, _now._

Detouring through the kitchen, he heads for the garage. There are gardening tools: they’ve all seen better days but they’ll have to do. Scooping up everything, he carries them outside.

He’s got a vague memory of Mary saying she’d love Joanie to have space for a slide and swing set. The backyard though – like the rest of the house – hasn’t been looked after for a while. What used to be flowerbeds are overgrown, weeds taking over. The lawn is patchy, dying under the Californian sun. 

_‘God help me, if you blow this for me and we survive, I may just kill you myself…’_

He starts to dig.

It’s mid-afternoon. The sun is beating down on his shoulders. Sweat slides down between his shoulder blades. His mouth and lips are dry. His anger relishes the discomfort. _You deserve it_, he tells himself.

He carries on digging.

He’s not sure how much time passes before the back door to the house opens, then closes. There are footsteps – familiar footsteps – which stop beside him. A hand appear in his vision. It’s holding a glass of water.

He knows he can be a stubborn son of a bitch sometimes. But Danny’s no slouch when it comes to stubbornness either. So when he doesn’t take the glass straight away, Danny waits. And carries on waiting.

With an annoyed huff he concedes defeat. Half the water he downs in two gulps. Tipping his head forward, he pours the rest over the back of his neck.

“Better?”

“No.” Instantly he hates himself. “Danny—”

“What we digging for? Gold?”

Looking back over his shoulder, he meets Danny’s gaze. Danny’s answering gaze is steady. Calm. Understanding. Full of love.

_‘Stop thinking about yourself for one minute and think about my loss…’ _“I’m clearing it. For Joanie. Mary said…”

He trails off as Danny starts unbuttoning the black shirt he’s wearing. It’s the same one he’d been wearing when he arrived in Washington. Back there it had been perfect for the autumn weather. In California it’s much too heavy. He watches as Danny slips it off, revealing a white tank undershirt. There’s a battered old wooden chair by the back door; Danny hangs his shirt on it then comes back.

“What do you need, babe?”

_You, _he thinks: Danny’s body looks amazing under the tightly fitting white fabric. It’s not really true though, not right now. What he needs right now is to dig. To burn away the adrenaline that’s buzzing angrily under his skin.

Danny picks a shovel from the pile of tools. “Okay.”

He starts digging again. A few feet away, Danny does the same.

Time passes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Danny’s shoulder muscles shifting, can see the freckles dotting his skin. He can remember waking up one morning and trying to count them. It had been fun trying to find them all. Despite the memory being happy, the distraction is not a welcome one. He’s angry with himself. He _needs _to be angry.

Shaking himself, he digs harder.

Eventually something else catches his attention. Something that overrides the anger. Putting down his shovel, he peers closer at Danny’s shoulder. “You’re burning.”

Danny peers too. “Damn.” Grimacing, he pokes at the pink skin. “Guess it’s time for a beer.”

He has no intention of following Danny’s lead. But his shovel’s being taken out of his hand before he can protest. Digging in his heels doesn’t work either: Danny’s already dragging him towards the house. Within minutes he’s sitting on the back step. Like magic, Danny produces two cold beers from behind the chair.

Taking his beer, he eyes it suspiciously. He’s pretty sure he’s been played. 

Danny’s already tipping back his own bottle, taking his first sip. When their eyes meet Danny shrugs, nonchalantly. His eyes though are filled with concern. “What happened, babe?”

Shaking his head, he takes a gulp of his own beer. It tastes bitter as it goes down.

Danny studies him for a moment. “I get that you don’t want to tell me what you talked to the counsellor about. But you can’t keep doing this.” He waves his beer at the area they’re digging. “You’re gonna run out of yard.”

He follows Danny’s gaze. Anger had been driving him on. He hadn’t realised how much he’d dug up. Sighing, he gives in. “We were…we were talking about Mom. About grief. How it feels.” Taking a gulp of beer, he swallows hard. His stomach’s roiling at the idea of telling Danny. “I told her I was _relieved_.”

“Steve—”

A sound escapes him: half huff, half pain. “Relieved. Who the hell says that about their Mom’s death, huh?”

Danny, to his surprise, nods. His expression turns distant. “People do. Lots of people. Death’s…complicated.”

“Complicated?” Too late, he remembers Matt. “It’s just…I used to worry about her,” he stutters, guilt making him trip over his words. “I used to think what someone might do if they captured her. I mean, it’s easier for us. Men. There’s only so much they can do to us but Mom… Women…” He trails off, his Adam’s apple catching in his throat. “I’ve…I’ve seen things, Danny. I kept thinking…”

He trails off. Danny’s turned pale.

“I’ve been there too,” Danny explains, softly. “North Korea. Colombia. Wo Fat, that basement in the laundry. You’re wrong. Men…men can be hurt as badly as women.” He taps the side of his head with the lip of the beer bottle. “Especially up here.”

The pain in Danny’s voice hits him like a physical blow. Abandoning his beer, he slides his arm around Danny’s shoulders. When Danny grunts he loosens his grip. But he doesn’t let go. His heart lurches from knowing Danny had to experience those things. Some of them because of _him_. The urge to protect him is overwhelming. He never wants to let him go.

Eventually though, Danny pulls away from him. They share a kiss, hard and desperate. 

“I need another beer,” Danny says, slightly breathlessly. “You want one?”

Regretfully, he shakes his head. He’d love one but adrenaline and beer don’t mix. He waits until Danny disappears back into the house before he lets his shoulders droop. The appointment with the counsellor has really taken it out of him. 

The anger is still there though. Simmering under the surface. Danny might have been understanding but he’s not ready to feel so kind to himself.

The counsellor, he thinks, would have something to say about that. He’s not sure if he wants to give her the opportunity. She’s good, she specialises in working with veterans. He doubts he’s ever going to get anything past her. And that scares him. A hell of a lot.

Retrieving his beer, he rolls the bottle between his palms. Drops of moisture on the bottle glitter in the sun. Mesmerised, he watches the colours change. 

The sound of a phone ringing jolts him of his daydream. Looking around, he locates it: it’s coming from Danny’s shirt. Reaching back, he grabs it. Flicking open the screen, reveals a number he recognises. It’s Rachel. 

Danny’s got three missed messages from her. All received while Danny was at the counsellor’s office, waiting for him. Hesitating, he looks back towards the house. He’s made it a rule to never get involved in the relationship between Grace and Charlie’s parents. He wouldn’t normally answer the phone. But it’s his fault Danny’s been busy. And what’s it going to hurt if he keeps Rachel talking for a few minutes while they wait for Danny to come back?

Decision made, he accepts the call.

H50H50H50

He’s just finished the call with Rachel when Danny reappears with the beers. He feels breathless, like he’s taken a punch to the solar plexus. He can barely get the words out: “l forgot Charlie’s birthday.”

Danny advances slowly, a cold beer in each hand. Head-cocked, he looks confused. Then understanding dawns. “You answered my phone.”

There’s a note of accusation in Danny’s voice. He gets it; he’s stepped over a line. Thrusting out his hand, he offers the phone back. “I’m sorry, okay? Rachel called. You had missed calls. I figured maybe it’s urgent so…” He trails off. Danny’s expression has changed: he looks like he’s been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “You knew why she was calling, didn’t you?” Another thought occurs. It brings him to his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me about Charlie’s birthday?”

Danny shrugs. He lifts a beer bottle to take a drink. Half-way, he aborts the move. Transferring both bottles to one hand, he runs his hand over his hair. “I didn’t need to. Rachel and I were fixing it. Charlie has a party on his birthday. When we get back I’ll have a party for him and—”

_No. No, no, no. He’s not screwing this up too. _“You can fly back tomorrow. I’ll call in some favours and—"

“Steve. No.”

“You’re not missing his birthday.” _My Mom and Dad, they’re missing birthdays too. _“I’ll call Lou. He can speak to the Governor.” . 

He moves to step past Danny. He’s got calls to make. He _needs _to make this right. 

Danny moves too: he’s blocking the back door.

“Danny—”

“I came here to make sure you came home.”

Danny’s voice stops him in his tracks. Underneath the determined tone there’s a thread of something else that sends a shiver down his spine: fear. “It’s okay, Danny. I’ll come back—“

Danny shrugs again. It’s even less convincing this time. “I know you will. We’re going back. Together.”

The anger simmering under his skin flares. It’s infuriated by Danny’s faux-calm posture. This is Charlie they’re talking about. “You can’t do that.”

“I can’t do what?”

“You can’t miss Charlie’s birthday because of me.”

“I’m not.”

Crossing his arms, he steps closer to Danny. Part of him knows it’s a dick move but he can’t stop himself. “You’re here. Charlie’s in Hawaii. I’m pretty sure that means you’re missing his birthday.”

Slowly, Danny puts the beers on the ground. Straightening up, he stuffs his hands in his pockets. “That’s not on you.”

“Rachel said—“

“We’re divorced, Steve. I don’t know what she said but we always have two birthdays for Charlie and Grace. That’s how it is. You know that.”

Danny still sounds – and looks - calm. But his own anxiety makes him focus on the sadness in Danny’s eyes. _Dad used to look like that, after Mom died. _“You can go. Tomorrow. Just let me make the calls, huh?”

Danny’s expression softens. “You need to be there too.”

“Please, just let me—”

“It’s okay—”

“No. It’s _not_.” 

He’s raised his voice. Shocked, he clacks his jaw shut.

There’s a pause. One beat. “Breathe for me, Steve.”

As he does as he’s told, Danny wraps his hand around his wrist. Danny’s thumb is rubbing at his pulse point, soothing the delicate skin.

“I get that you need to fix things,” Danny says softly, his thumb still rubbing in small circles, “but you can’t fix this.”

Instinct makes him want to pull his arm away. He needs to _run. _To keep Danny from being dragged into this life of his. “You don’t get it, do you?”

Danny carries on stroking. “I guess not.”

“This is my life, Danny. The Navy. The CIA. They own me. They can take me away at any time. It happened with Mom and Dad. I can’t let that happen to Grace and Charlie too—"

Danny sticks out his bottom lip. “How long have we known each other?”

He swallows hard. Labelling what they have with a number seems wrong: It feels like they’ve always known each other. “Ten years.”

“You think I don’t know how this works?”

“This is _different_.”

“Why?”

“You _know _why.”

“Pretend I don’t.”

“_Danny_.”

“Steven.”

“I love you. You love me. _Jesus_.”

“Then why the hell are we yelling at each other over this, huh?” Danny tightens the grip on his wrist. “We both know what we’re getting into.”

“You don’t—”

A flicker of anger crosses Danny’s face. He stops rubbing. “North Korea. Afghanistan. Who came and got you?”

“I didn’t mean it like—”

“Japan. Mexico. Who was waiting for you when you got back?”

“You.” _Always you. _Chastened, he stares at his shoes. “I understand what you’re saying but—”

“Then why the hell do you think I’m gonna go home?”

_‘I lost my husband, I lost my children, I lost my identity…’ _He takes a deep breath. He has to make Danny understand. “This job, Danny. This _life_. It…it cost my Mom and Dad their lives. It’s probably going to cost me mine too one day. I can’t let you be dragged into that…”

He trails off. Danny’s fingers are digging into his wrist. 

“I know you’re scared,” Danny says, quietly. “I am too but I’ve waited too long for this to give up now, you understand me?”

Emotion is clogging his throat. He nods instead.

“If you…if you don’t want this then you’ve gotta tell me, babe. But I’m telling you now, we’re not breaking up over an argument about Charlie’s birthday.”

Shame makes him look down at his shoes again. Danny sounds tired. Resigned. Like he knows how this is going to end and he doesn’t like it.

_Your fault. You made him feel like that._

Panic flares. Wrenching his arm out of Danny’s grip, he pushes past Danny and goes inside. Striding through the living room, he heads for the bedroom. Shutting the door behind him, he leans back against it.

Danny makes it sound so easy. So fucking easy. 

The last moments he spent with his Mom start replaying in his mind. It’s so raw, so clear. So damn real. Her hand is warm in his. The smell of blood and cordite catches at the back of his throat. _What if that was Danny, _a dark and angry voice whispers in his head. _Imagine what that would do to Charlie and Grace._

Banging on the other side of the door drags him out of his memories. Flinching, he steps away from the door.

“Steve. Open up.”

With a heavy sigh he drops his chin to chest. “Not now, Mare.”

“You need to apologise.”

“Which part of ‘not now’ are you not getting?”

“The part where you’re acting like an idiot.”

Huffing with frustration, he opens the door. “This really isn’t a good time—”

Mary taps him on the chest with her forefinger. She looks anxious and furious in equal parts.

He knows how she feels. “I just need a minute—”

“Fine. But that’s all you’re going to get.” Pausing, she studies his face. Whatever she sees makes her wrap her arms around his waist. “Birthdays, anniversaries, you know we’re kinda weird about them, right?”

“Maybe.” She pokes a finger in his ribs. He squirms away. “Okay. Yes. _Yes.”_

“The perfect family doesn’t exist. It’s just this fantasy we have in our heads.”

“I know that but—”

“Danny’s right. You can’t fix it.”

Anger flares. He pulls away. “I don’t want to make it worse.”

“Doesn’t he get a say in that? They’re his kids. It’s his life too. He wants to share it with you—”

“I _know_ that.”

“Then listen to what he’s saying. God, why have you always got to be right—”

“I’m not—”

“Exactly.”

Throwing his arms up, he runs his fingers through his hair. She’s right. _So _right. “I know. I know. It’s just…why is this suddenly so complicated? Danny and me, we’ve never talked about these things but I figured…I always figured we understood each other.” 

Mary shrugs. It’s a simple gesture. No emotions, just fact: “Mom died.”

The desolation in her voice extinguishes the grief-fuelled anger that’s been driving him all afternoon. “Yeah,” he whispers, pulling her into his arms. “Yeah. She did.”

This grief he’s feeling, he reminds himself, isn’t just his. It’s Mary’s too. And Danny and Joanie aren’t immune either. It’s a small house with a lot of memories and emotions in it. There’s nowhere to hide.

Kissing Mary’s hair, he pulls away. “I need to go apologise.”

“Yeah, you do,” she replies, but there’s no heat it in. Reaching up she ruffles his hair, like she’s seven again and he’s still a gawky teenager, proud of the new stylish haircut he just got. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

They’re almost out of the bedroom when a phone rings. Experiencing a sense of deja-vu he searches for it. Tracking it down to his pants, discarded on the bedroom floor, he retrieves it. Swiping the front screen, his stomach plummets.

“It’s the CIA.”

“I’ll get Danny.”

Mary’s gone before he can stop her. Staring at the phone, it crosses his mind that maybe he should wait for Danny this time. He’s not in the right frame of mind to talk to them. Instincts are kicking in, telling him to protect his loved ones. The anger’s stirring again, like a hungry beast. 

The phone starts ringing again. Loud. Insistent. Drilling into his mind.

He takes the call.

H50H50H50

He’s still on the call when Mary reappears, Danny close behind her. Danny looks furious, ready to fight. Making grabby signs with his hands, he gestures at the phone. “Steve, let me talk to them."

Tucking the phone tighter against his ear, he frowns. There’s a loud buzzing noise in his head. It’s making it difficult to think. He nods anyway in response to what he thinks he’s hearing. Thanking the caller, he switches off his phone.

“What do they want?”

The buzzing is getting louder. Relief is making him feel lightheaded, he acknowledges vaguely, as he reaches out blindly for the bed and sits down. It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off him. 

“Babe? You okay?”

Blinking, Danny comes into focus. He’s kneeling down in front of him, resting both hands on his knees. Beside him, Mary’s hovering nervously. 

Reaching out, he takes hold of both their hands. “I’m taking her home,” he whispers, each word catching in his throat, making him swallow hard. “They’re releasing Mom’s body.” He catches Danny’s gaze, holds it. “We’re going home.”

To be continued...


	9. Danny

“I’m gonna take Joanie to the restroom.”

He nods but Mary’s already weaving her way through the crowds, towing Joanie along beside her. Within seconds, she disappears into the sea of people. Retrieving the suitcase and rucksack Mary’s left for him to look after, he stacks them with their other luggage.

The departures area at Los Angeles airport is jammed full of people. They’ve managed to find two seats free in one corner. With an hour still to go before the plane leaves, they’re taking it in turns to stretch their legs before the five hour flight to Hawaii.

He’s never been in a departure lounge that has comfortable seats and LAX is no exception. Stretching his legs, he tries to stop the chair digging into parts of his anatomy he never knew he had. When that fails, he shifts again, groaning loudly.

Steve’s sitting in the seat beside him. “What’s wrong?”

“Airports,” he replies, sliding further down the seat. “You think with the amount of money you pay they’d spring for padding, huh?”

His question is met with silence. Dismissing the seating arrangements he turns his attention to Steve instead. Steve’s scanning the crowd, a worried dint between his eyebrows. 

He nudges him with his shoulder. “They’ll be back in a minute, okay?”

“Hmm hmm.”

The fact that Steve had zeroed in on these seats – in the corner, with their backs to the wall – isn’t lost on him. “You want to go find them? The restrooms are just round—”

“We shouldn’t split up.”

Thrusting out his bottom lip, he considers that answer. “If you say so.” 

Steve blinks, meets his gaze. Reaching out, he intertwines their fingers. Gradually his expression relaxes. “I’m fine. I’m just…I’m just thinking.”

He nods. Slowly. “Thinking, huh? Dangerous, babe.”

Steve pulls a face at him – it’s part fond, part mocking. He returns the shoulder-nudge. They fall into a companionable silence.

Mentally he tells himself to relax. It’s been nearly a week since the CIA confirmed they were releasing Doris’s body. In that time Steve’s had another meeting with the counsellor. When he came back this time, he was quieter. More thoughtful. He’d spent the next day dozing in bed. 

Ever since then, Steve’s been having these quiet, introspective moments. Restraining himself from asking Steve is okay – giving him space - has been hard. 

It’s hard now. Steve’s radiating nervous energy. He has been since they walked in the airport. The urge to walk them out of here – all of them – is almost overwhelming.

_Calm, _he sternly tells himself. _It’ll be okay._

Needing a distraction, he gets his phone out of his pocket. Swiping through the pictures, he smiles. Three days earlier, Charlie had his birthday party. They’d talked to him online during the party. The theme had been superheroes. Charlie had been wearing a batman outfit. The pictures on his phone are screen captures from the conversation. Charlie looks happy, giving them a big toothy grin.

Sitting in Mary’s living room in Los Angeles he’d managed to hide his sadness. Beside him, Steve had been tense too. Charlie though had been ecstatic to find out both Steve _and _Joanie were coming home to Hawaii. He was even happier to find out they’d be holding another birthday party for him at Steve’s. He’d chatted excitedly, happily oblivious to how they were feeling.

That night, he’d struggled to sleep. Staring at the ceiling in the early hours of the morning, he’d replayed in head every mistake he’d made in his relationship with Rachel. The effects those decisions have on Grace and Charlie. _Never again, _he’d promised himself, as he’d watched Steve sleeping. _I won’t make those mistakes again._

The sun had been sneaking past the edges of the curtains when Steve had stirred. Half-asleep, Steve had rolled over, spooned up behind him. Steve’s arm had flopped over, pinning him against his chest. Mumbling to himself, Steve had gone back to sleep.

Smiling to himself, he’d listened to Steve softly snoring. Gradually the guilt and regret crawled back into its normal hiding space, at the corners of his mind. Caressing Steve’s hair, he’d been drifting on the edge of consciousness, when one final thought floated into his mind: ‘_We don’t get life on our terms._ _It’s life on life’s terms or not at all’_.

“I keep thinking about my Dad.”

With a mental shake he drags himself back to Los Angeles. Beside him, Steve’s slid down in seat. Long legs are stretched out, blocking the walkway. Steve’s tilted his body so their shoulders are touching. They’re so close, he can feel Steve’s breath against his ear. It’s a moment of intimacy in the noisy departure lounge. Heart swelling, he rests his hand on top of Steve’s.

“When I flew back to Hawaii, after he died,” Steve continues, oblivious to his thoughts, “my CO, he arranged my flight back.” His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “I was so focused on the Hesse brothers that I didn’t…I didn’t…” 

He squeezes Steve’s hand. “It’s okay, babe. Take your time.”

“I just…I didn’t stop, Danny. It was my Dad and I should have…” Steve takes a deep shuddering sigh. “I regret that. I regret that a lot.”

Not for the first time, he wonders what Steve and the counsellor have been talking about. “He would have understood. You know that right?”

“I do but I didn’t take time to process.”

He shakes his head. He can remember that time too. Realising Steve was camping out in the living room where his Dad died had made him sick to the pit of his stomach at the time. It still does now. “You’d been through a lot. Freddie. Your Dad. You were surviving.”

“Maybe.” Puffing out his cheeks, Steve breathes out slowly. “I’m glad you’re here this time.”

“So am I.”

He squeezes Steve’s hand again. There’s no escaping the fact that if Steve’s Dad hadn’t been murdered they probably wouldn’t have met. Catching Steve’s gaze, he can see that Steve understands that too. It feels wrong, he thinks, that he doesn’t regret that fate bought them together. What he does regret is that Steve had to go through that alone. He would have done anything back then to take that pain away from him. To take away the pain that Steve’s experiencing now.

“Steve—”

He’s cut off: Steve’s kissing him. It takes him a second or two to catch up. Then he returns the kiss, brushing his lips across Steve’s. When he pulls back, he’s not the only one who’s feeling surprised: Steve’s blinking at him owlishly. 

He can’t contain his grin. “Wow. We just had our first public kiss in LAX airport.”

Steve blinks again. He’s obviously having trouble processing what he’s just done. “Yeah.” Glancing around, he rubs at the end of his nose. “Yeah.” His face breaks into a shy grin. “I told you I’m a romantic.”

There are butterflies in the pit of his stomach. That doesn’t mean he’s going to let Steve off easy though. “You are? When was that?”

Steve tugs at his ear lobe. “I bought us take out on our first date.”

“Our first date? Did I miss something? We had a first date? The way I remember it we skipped the dates and went straight to the grown-ups stuff.”

Steve looks mock-hurt. “You’ve forgotten? The first night.” He waggles his eyebrows. “We didn’t want to go out. We ordered in. I paid.”

“That’s it?”

“Yup.”

He shakes his head: Steve sounds ridiculously pleased with himself. “Pizza. We had pizza.”

Steve huffs. “I tipped the delivery guy.”

“That makes all the difference.” He gestures with his hands. “Can’t wait to see what you’ve got planned for our second date, babe.”

Steve expression turns thoughtful: he’s taking the question seriously. He rubs his hand back and forth over recently trimmed beard.

What he’s going to suggest remains a mystery though. Joanie reappears, skipping her way through the crowd. Mary’s close behind her, red cheeked and looking harassed. 

As Joanie shoots past them, Steve scoops her up like he’s catching the ball in a game football. Getting to his feet, he tucks her under his arm. She giggles loudly as he tickles her. Strangers around them smile at the infectious sound. “I’ll take her for a while,” Steve offers, nodding at the seat he’s just vacated, “we’ll take a look at the planes.”

As Mary drops into the seat beside him, he watches Steve and Joanie walk away. Joanie’s little hand is tucked into Steve’s giant one. Steve’s slightly bent down to listen to whatever Joanie’s saying. Occasionally he nods, his concentration total.

“He’s good with her.”

Reluctantly he pulls his gaze away from Steve. He smiles at Mary. “So are you.” Unable to help himself, he goes back to watching Steve and Joanie again. They’ve standing next to a huge window, looking out at the runway. Steve’s hoisted Joanie up on his hip. “Charlie and Grace love him.”

“Thank you.”  
  
Confused, he looks back. “For what?”  
  
Sucking at her bottom lip, she’s watching Steve and Joanie too. “For looking after us. For looking after him. I don’t think we would have made it through this week without you.”  
  
“I’m not sure how much help I’ve been.” He meets her gaze. He’s not being self-depreciating. He’s being realistic. A few sessions with a counsellor aren’t a miracle cure.. “He’s still got a ways to go.”  
  
“Being back in Hawaii will help.”  
  
There’s a tone in her voice that makes him study her face. “You looking forward to going home?”  
  
The corner of her lips turn downwards. “I guess so.” Her eyes flick over to Steve and Joanie, then back again. “Things are gonna get even weirder. We...we already buried her once, Danny. Then she came back....”  
  
“And now you’ve got to bury her again,” he offers, when she trails off. “I’m sorry.”  
  
“Not your fault.” Resting her head on his shoulder, she flashes him a wane smile. “At least we got to spend some time together. We can thank Mom for that.”  
  
He goes to shake his head. Stops. Steve – and Mary – are two of the strongest people he knows. They’ve had to be. But he knows this has pushed them both to the edge. Now’s not the right time to share his thoughts about Doris.  
  
Raising her head, Mary huffs a laugh. ““He’s such a goof. Maybe she’ll sleep on the plane now.”  
  
Following her gaze, he grins. Joanie’s running circles around Steve – literally. Steve keeps pretending her to grab her which just makes her run and giggle even more. Whether Steve’s plan to wear out Joanie is going to work or not is irrelevant: it’s cute as hell to watch.  
  
It’s not long before the announcement comes over the PA system they can start boarding. Steve steals his heart all over again when he appears, carrying Joanie: they both look tired, their eyes droopy with sleep.  
  
Helping Mary with the bags, he herds Steve onto the plane. Taking his seat, he belts up. Beside him, Steve’s already belted up, closing his eyes, arms crossed. It’s a snug fit, his knees are digging into the seat in front, but he doesn’t seem to care. By the time the plane’s wheels leave the tarmac, Steve dozing, his chin resting on his chest.  
  
Looking across the aisle, he discovers Steve’s not the only one asleep. Joanie’s out cold too, cuddled up against Mary. Mary grins back, lifts her hand, her fingers are crossed.  
  
With a nod, he winks back. Mary’s right, he thinks, as he settles in for the long journey: what she and Steve are going through, it isn’t normal. Every step they take, it’s into unexplored territory. Luckily they’ll soon be back in Hawaii. And if there’s one thing he’s absolutely certain about, it’s that their Ohana won’t let Mary or Steve fall.  
  
H50H50H50

When he’d been discussing the travel arrangements to Hawaii with Steve they’d talked about taking a military flight again. Steve had been adamant they had to go commercial, for Mary and Joanie’s sake. Taking Steve’s advice, he’d booked the flights. _It’ll be fine, _Steve had reassured him the night before as they’d packed, _I’ll be fine._

Despite Steve’s reassurances, he’d still dreamt about Steve waking up on the plane, disorientated and angry. In his dreams, that scenario hadn’t ended well. So, when Steve wakes up, an hour into the flight, his heart jumps into his mouth. Fingers curled into fists to stop him touching, he watches Steve struggle back to consciousness. He notices how Steve’s body tenses, just before his eyes flicker open. There’s a pause – more like a stutter in time – then Steve’s body gradually relaxes.

‘I’m okay,’ Steve mouths, after what feels like forever. But his eyes are still darting back and forth, checking out the immediate area.

He forces the corners of his lips to flick upwards. Retrieving his bag, he offers a bottle of water and a packet of crackers from the stash in his bag. There’s a pair of sound-reducing headphones too. He waits until Steve’s wearing the headphones and picking at the crackers before he goes back to reading the inflight magazine. Again.

The words on the pages blur in front of him. Around him the other passengers and talking, laughing, watching the in-flights movies. On their row, there’s silence. Across from him, Mary looks pensive. Beside him Steve’s expression is distant, thoughtful. His own stomach is rolling with nerves, his concentration shot to pieces. Only Joanie is sleeping on, oblivious to the tense atmosphere around her.

The flight seems to go on forever. Communication is sparse. Finally – _finally_ – they make it to Hawaii. As the wheels touch down, the plane bumping across the runway, he offers up a silent prayer of thanks.

_We’re home. Steve’s home._

Thankfully baggage collection is fast. Immigration is surprisingly smooth too. Nerves are still strung tight. Steve keeps throwing worried glances at Mary. Eventually he throws his arm around Mary’s shoulder and together, with Joanie, they walk out of departures together. Onto Hawaiian soil.

Following behind them, he lets out a shaky breath. Getting back to Hawaii is only the first step. Doris’s body had been flown back to the islands the previous day. The funeral home is their next stop. 

Stepping out of the airport, he blinks rapidly. The Hawaiian sunlight is brighter, more vivid, than California. Instinctively he tilts his face to the sun, half-closes his eyes. A core part of him will always belong to New Jersey. But this – this is home.

He opens his eyes. Steve’s smiling at him. Steve still looks ragged around the edges, worn out by everything that he’s been through. In his eyes though, there’s a spark of life that’s been missing.

Steve’s smile grows. “Good to be home, huh?”

He nods. He should say something sarcastic. Words are failing him though because his stomach is performing back flips at that smile: he knows it’s just for _him_.

Behind them, Mary clears her throat.

Locking his eyebrows in the upward direction, he turns. “Yes?”

Eyes sparkling with laughter, Mary studies each of them in turn. “I was just wondering,” she says innocently, “what the plan was? I mean…you know…do you guys need to get room or are we actually…going somewhere?”

Her question pops the brief bubble of happiness. Smiles disappear. They’re expected at the funeral home. “Cab. We need a cab,” Steve announces, and then they’re grabbing bags, moving at Navy SEAL speed. Wearing an expression of grim determination, Steve carves his way through the crowd of fellow passengers and jet-lagged tourists.

Trotting to keep up, they follow in his wake. 

H50H50H50

He has, over the years, visited many funeral homes. Some look more welcoming than others. The one they pull up outside looks functional and clean. There’s no colour. No warmth. No welcome. If it was his mother they were burying, it’s the last place he’d bring her.

It’s the funeral home chosen by the CIA.

_It’ll be fine, _he tells himself as the cab leaves. Then he sees Steve’s face. There’s an angry V between his eyebrows. Lips tightly pursed, he’s scanning the building brick by brick. Mary’s busy talking to Joanie, but she keeps throwing the building angry glances too.

“It’ll be fine,” he says again, but this time out loud. The pep talk is as much for him as for them. They’ve been travelling for nearly 10 hours. The initial euphoria of getting Steve home – they’re _home _– is wearing off. Reality is staring them in the face. 

He wishes he could get back on the plane.

_No you don’t, _a voice in his head tells him. And he doesn’t, not really. But he does wish he could spare Steve and Mary what’s about to happen. Not just now but over the next few days. 

Steve still looks furious. Reaching out, he rests his palm at the base of Steve’s spine. Pressing gently, he hip bumps him, to get his attention. “You ready to do this, babe?”

Steve blinks, as if dragging himself back from somewhere else. “Yeah,” he says, uncertain. His gaze flicks to Mary. “Mare?”

“Sure.”

Mary sounds anything but sure. There’s a pause. Then she starts walking, gently chiding Joanie along beside her. In two long strides Steve’s beside her, carrying bags on both shoulders like a pack mule.

His gut is churning with dread. Collecting up the last of the bags, he follows. 

What they find inside does nothing to relieve the growing tension. There’s a small welcome area: a front desk, a coffee table and two black leather sofas. There are two vases of flowers on the coffee table. Identical, they’ve been placed with careful precision. If it’s an attempt to be welcoming it’s failed dismally, he thinks. Pushing one of the vases out of the way, he puts the bags on the table. 

There’s a door to one side: it says ‘No Entry’. Hands on hips, Steve’s eyeing it like it’ll make a great punch bag.

He waves his hand in front of Steve’s face. “There’s a bell,” he points out, gesturing at the front desk. “How about we ring it before you go all Bruce Banner on that door, huh?”

Sulkily, Steve rings the bell. Crossing his arms, he starts to pace. “’Bruce Banner’?”

“Yep.” Picking at the flowers in the second vase, he starts rearranging them. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Mary sitting on one of the sofas, watching him. Her frown turns into a faint smile. “You know, like the movie. The Incredible Hulk.” 

“Have I seen it?”

The flowers now look like they’ve been roughly stuffed into the vase. Satisfied, he turns his full attention on Steve. “You’re asking _me?”_

Steve shrugs. Turns. Keeps pacing. “Movies. We always watch them together.”

The way he says it – so casually, so _sure _– makes him take a mental step back. They have, he realises. Not just visits to the movies. Friday night movies on Steve’s couch. Movie nights with Charlie and Grace too. For _years_. How could they have been so blind about their relationship?

Approaching footsteps end the conversation – and Steve’s pacing. Finally the door opens. A young woman’s standing there, in a dark skirt suit and a cream blouse. She’s clutching a leather folio to her chest like a protective shield. 

“Lanie Bennett,” she says, shaking hands with each of them in turn. She wavers, checks something in her folio. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Commander McGarrett.” 

Her gaze keeps flicking between him and Steve. It’s clear she’s confused about who is who. Gently nudging Steve in the ribs doesn’t get a response. Sighing inwardly, he helps her out: “He’s Steve. Commander McGarrett. This is Mary McGarrett. Doris’s daughter. And that little lady there, singing to your flowers, she’s Joanie. Doris’s granddaughter.”

Lanie flashes him a grateful smile. “And you are?”

“Me?” His brain goes blank. “Danny Williams. I’m…I’m a friend of the family.”

There’s a pause. Steve draws himself up to his full height. “He’s my partner.” Another pause. Longer. “He’s my boyfriend.”

Lanie nods, scribbles something on her notepad. She starts talking about arrangements and a viewing but the words blur. His attention is on Steve’s shocked expression: it matches his feelings perfectly. They just came out for the first time to a complete stranger. In a funeral parlour. It is, he thinks, trying not to giggle hysterically, a prime example of how screwed up their lives are.

Mary isn’t so subtle: she snorts. 

Lanie stops scribbling. She looks confused again.

Steve rolls his eyes.

“It’s been a long day,” he jumps in before anyone says something silly they’ll regret later. He waves at the door. “Can we…you know…”

“Of course,” Lanie says, blissfully unaware that he’s got no idea what she’s been talking about. “Let me take you to the chapel of rest where your mother is sleeping. We can talk about the arrangements afterwards.”

The mood instantly turns sombre. Silently they follow Lanie through the door. Even Joanie’s stopped humming. Taking Mary’s hand, she cuddles up close to her Mom.

On the other side of the door there’s a corridor. There are doors on each side, mainly offices. Lanie doesn’t stop: at the end they turn left, revealing another corridor. This one’s wider, with soft chairs and couches dotted along the sides. There are more doors with name tags on each of them: these are the chapels of rest.

His stomach does a painful roll. In front of him, Mary falters. Steve’s there before him: he takes Mary’s free hand, squeezes. Giving her an encouraging smile, he tugs her along. 

It’s quiet. Painfully so. Lanie’s wearing heels. Joanie’s wearing sneakers. They squeak and click in unison over the tiled floor.

At the end of the corridor, a door opens and two people step out.

It’s Lou and Tani.

Instantly, he’s grinning so hard his cheeks hurt. Lou’s wearing a dark suit instead of his normal aloha shirt. Tani’s wearing a plain, full-length dress. It’s a sombre look – he didn’t know Lou still owned a suit - but it’s still _so _good to see them.

Lanie doesn’t get a chance to say anything: Lou’s already advancing towards them, gently manhandling her out of the way so that he can hug them in turn. 

Mary steps willingly into his bear hug. As he lets her go, he leans down and whispers something in her ear. Blinking hard, she nods.

Moving along the line, Lou comes to a halt in front of Steve. His smile slips. “I’m sorry, man,” he says, quietly. “I wish things had turned out differently.”

Attention suddenly on his feet, Steve bobs his head. “Me too.” Swallowing hard, he meets Lou’s gaze. “Sorry I’ve been away so long, I know it can’t have been easy—”

Whatever else he’s going to say is lost as Lou repeats his bear hug, longer this time.

Eventually Lou lets him go. Steve rubs at his eyes as he steps back. Huffing out a long breath, he squares his shoulders. “It’s good to see you, Lou.”

Lou’s smile is back. Genuine. “We’ve missed you.” He glances in his direction. “Some of us more than others.”

Steve looks in his direction too. His expression turns serious. He clears his throat. “About that. I know we should have told you but—”

“No you shouldn’t. It was private.” Lou raises a finger as Steve opens his mouth to argue. “But I’m glad Danny did.” He waves his finger. “Don’t you look at me like that, Steven J McGarrett. I’m real pleased for you. Both of you,” he adds, glancing over at him again. 

Suddenly everything goes dark as he finds himself on the receiving end of one of Lou’s hugs. It’s all encompassing, impossible to resist. Going with the flow he doesn’t resist until Lou’s nearly squeezed the air out of him.

“Sorry I didn’t meet you at the airport,” Lou says, as he pulls away, allowing him to breathe. “We had some loose ends to tie up on a case. Damn, it’s good to see you.”

“You too,” he replies, with feeling. “And you,” he adds, waving over Tani who’s hanging back, out of earshot, “you, you’re definitely a sight for sore eyes. C’me here.”

The hugging starts all over again, in reverse order. Tani doesn’t say anything as she works down the line. She doesn’t need to. Her relief at seeing them is palpable. The way she hugs Steve for longer – the way he’s reluctant to let her go – speaks volumes too.

Steve clears his throat. He’s watching Tani: she’s made it to the end of the row and she’s kneeling, talking to Joanie. “The rest of the team. They okay?”

“Adam and Quinn are holding the fort,” Lou confirms. “They send their love.”

Steve frowns. “And Junior?”

“In there.” Lou’s expression has turned serious. He turns, looks back down the corridor. “He said he wanted to stay with her until you got here.”

Following the direction of Lou’s gaze, it takes them all a moment to catch on. 

Steve gets it first: he inhales sharply. “How long has he been here?”

Tani stands up. “Since yesterday. When your Mom arrived.”

“We’ve been checking in on him,” Lou adds, “but he didn’t want to leave.”

“I’ll just…” Steve starts. His face crumbles. He flails his hand in the direction that Lou’s looking. He takes a step towards the chapel of rest where Doris is then catches himself. “Mare?”

Mary manages a faint smile. “You go.” She glances down at Joanie. Tani’s hunched back down next to her, telling her how pretty she is, in her flowery dress. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

“Okay.” Steve takes a step. Stops, Starts walking again.

He’s torn between going with Steve or staying with Mary. Mary gestures, telling him to go. Hurrying after Steve, he finds him half way down the corridor. He’s reading something on the wall. Catching him up, he rests a steadying hand on his shoulder. He’s already guessed what Steve’s reading but the words still pack a punch: the label by the door says ‘Doris McGarrett’.

He’s squeezes Steve’s shoulder. _I’m here, babe. You’re not alone._

Steve meets his eyes. “I’m fine.” He reads the sign again. “I saw…I saw her body in Washington. The CIA…they…It’s fine.” He nods to himself. “It’s alright.”

_No it’s not, _he wants to yell but Steve’s already opening the door, shoulders braced for a blow. 

Doris’s closed casket, is at one end of the room. It’s surrounded by perfectly placed flowers in tall vases. In front of it is a row of chairs. One of them is occupied: Junior’s sitting with his head bowed. 

Steve looks back at him. He’s turned pale.

“Go, babe,” he says quietly, pulling his hand away. This is Steve and Junior’s moment: he can’t go with him. Instantly, though, his heart protests at the lack of contact. “I’ll be here.”

Junior looks up as Steve approaches him. His face drops. Getting to his feet slowly, he stands to attention. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted to bring her home, sir.”

Steve’s gaze lingers on his Mom’s coffin. His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat. “It’s not your fault, Junior. She’s home now. That’s all that matters.”

Junior nods but his head goes down. It’s clear he thinks he’s failed.

Steve drags his eyes away from the coffin. Settling his attention on Junior, he frowns. “You saved my life. You remember that, right?”

Junior shakes his head. “I didn’t save hers.”

Steve protests: half sigh, half cry, muffled as he grabs Junior, hauling into a rough hug. Slowly, Junior’s arms come up and he hugs back. They rock on the spot, both lost in the same memory: the moment Doris died.

Watching from the doorway, he rubs at his eyes with the heels of his hands. Ever since Steve got the first call from the CIA, there’s a part of him that’s been angry. Angry that he couldn’t be there when Steve needed him most. Now all he wants is to hug Junior too. The kid doesn’t deserve to feel this guilty about Doris, even if she is Steve’s Mom.

None of them do.

Lowering his hands, he realises Lou’s watching him from the other side of the corridor. Grimacing, he pulls the door half-closed. Taking up position next to Lou, he leans back against the wall. “Is it wrong that a part of me still hates her?”

Crossing his arms, Lou settles into the same position beside him. “Doris? Join the club, man.”

“I keep telling myself that she was serving her country, that—”

“—that she lied to her kids, to her husband, let them think she was dead….” Lou trails off. Shrugs. A huge body shrug. “It’s a mess.”

He can’t help himself. Tiredness is creeping back in. He snorts with laughter. “You don’t say?”

“How you holding up?”

He looks back towards the door. He can hear Steve talking to Junior quietly. “He’s home.”

“That’s not the question I asked.” 

Dragging his eyes back, he meets Lou’s gaze. A memory pops up in his head: ‘_Define okay for me’. _ Searching for an answer, he comes up empty. There are no words that fully describe what’s been happening to them. 

Lou fills in the gap for him. “I know.” His tone is weary. The voice of experience. “You need anything, anything at all, you tell me.”

“I will,” he promises. Rubbing at his face, he grimaces again. His skin is dry and itchy. His clothes are crumpled from the long flight. Since Washington he’s been living in the few clothes in had in his small holdall. “All I need right now is a shower and a change of clothes.” 

_And Charlie. And Grace. Damn, he needs to see Charlie and Grace._

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. It’s Tani, Mary and Joanie. Lanie is bringing up the rear. Pushing away from the wall, he opens the door for Mary. Stepping back, he waves her through.

“Thanks,” she whispers, walking like she’s in a dream. She nods at Junior as he steps away. Coming to a halt beside Steve, she stares at the casket.

“It’s real this time, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Steve replies, so low they can barely hear him. “Yeah, it is. I’m sorry, Mare.”

Her first sob is barely audible. They grow: louder and faster until she’s struggling to draw breath. Steve holds her, protecting her with his body as her grief overwhelms her. He’s murmuring to her, so quiet they almost can’t hear. A soft litany of love and reassurance. 

Still standing in the doorway, he averts his eyes. Around him, the others are doing the same. 

Junior joins them. Saying ‘thank you’ for keeping Steve alive doesn’t even begin to cover it: he settles for giving him a heartfelt hug instead. 

There’s so much he wants to ask him – things about what happened in Mexico that only Junior knows – but Joanie’s got his attention: she looks worried, bewildered. Tani’s there before him, showing her something on her phone. Mermaids. Tani and her real-life mermaids.

Instantly, Joanie is entranced.

They all stand and watch Tani’s video. She puts it on a constant loop. The sound of Tani’s happy laughter floats out from the phone’s speaker. It’s not loud enough to blank out the sound of Mary’s sobs.

It’s not long before the video’s not enough to distract Joanie. Sensing the tense atmosphere, needing her Mom, she makes a break for the chapel of rest. Tani tries to grab her but Joanie squirms out of her grip and she’s running, her sneakers squeaking across the floor.

Instincts kicking in, he follows her. So he catches the moment Mary scoops Joanie into her arms and hugs her, like she’s been away for days instead of just a few minutes. His breath catches. His heart’s being crushed. Blinking back tears, he turns away.

“Danny?”

He turns back. Steve’s watching him. Waiting for him. There are no tears. No outward signs of grief. His heart sinks at the stoic demeanour. For a second - just a second - it feels like they haven’t progressed at all. 

Then Steve reaches out, one-armed. His heart gives him no choice but to respond. Within seconds, Steve’s holding him close, Mary on his other side. Looking into Steve’s eyes he can see the truth, the grief that he’s fighting to contain. Reaching up, he kisses Steve’s cheek.

He’s vaguely aware of the murmur of conversation behind him. It’s a warm, happy sound. Glancing back over his shoulder, he finds Lou, Tani and Junior standing in the doorway. They’re smiling back at him. In perfect synchronisation, they give him a thumbs up.

Relief washes over him.

It’s going to be okay, he suddenly realises. Maybe not today, but one day soon. It’s going to be okay because _his _definition of that word is about living in Hawaii, where he can spend time with Charlie and Grace. It’s about having his Ohana with him, those people standing behind him now who are so clearly thrilled for him and Steve. But most of all it’s going to be okay because he’s got Steve beside him. They – Steve - might be struggling right now but together they’re slowly winning.

So, yes, he thinks. It _really _is going to be okay.

To be continued…


	10. Steve

_He’s 16 years old and he’s sprawled across the couch, watching football on TV. It’s the middle of summer. Hot and humid. His Dad’s idea of air conditioning is opening the windows and doors but there’s no breeze. _

_Sighing, he shifts, trying to get comfortable. His tee-shirt and boardies are sticking to his skin. The game’s an old one. Rubbish. Huffing with irritation, he swings round on the couch, pointing in the other direction._

_It doesn’t make the game any better._

_Out in the back yard he can hear Mary laughing. It sounds like she’s having fun. Scowling, he crosses his arms. Dad’s out there with her. They’re probably playing tag. The stupid game is all she wants to play right now._

_She’s been annoying as hell all day._

_The sound of a car pulling up outside pulls him out of his funk. His Mom’s gone to the store to get dinner. She’s been gone for a long time. Too long, his stomach complains, rumbling loudly. Anticipating the pizza he’s been promised, he turns back to the game with a smile on his face._

_He waits._

_And waits._

_Craning his neck to look out of the window, he frowns. Only his Dad’s car is parked out front, not his Mom’s. Tucking his legs under himself, he leans against the back of the couch to get a better view. There is another car at the end of the drive. He recognises it. It’s not his Mom’s. It belongs to one of his Dad’s friends._

_Two men get out of the car. Heads down, they slowly walk towards the house. _

_He recognises both of them. He’s played catch with their kids at beach cook-outs. They’re just here to visit his Dad, he tells himself. They’re here to talk about a case. _

_They get to the house. As they step onto the lanai, they raise their heads. He sees their faces._

_Fear creeps up his spine. _

_They knock on the front door. Softly first, like they don’t want to interrupt. Two more raps follow. Harder. Insistent. Not to be ignored._

_“Steve. Answer the door.”_

_His Dad’s bellowed instruction makes him flinch. Dread growing, he swings his feet to the floor. Ignoring his Dad isn’t an option. _

_They knock again. Harder._

_“Steve!”_

_He walks to the door. The TV is still playing in the background. He can just about hear it over the buzzing in his ears. Fumbling with the handle, he opens the door._

_He might only be sixteen but he looks in their eyes and he _knows.

_The world stops spinning._

_Their faces fall when they seem him. Sympathy. Sorrow. One of them clears his throat. “Is your Dad here, Steve?”_

_He’s mute, frozen to the spot with terror. He knows he should call out for his Dad. But if he does that will mean this is real._

_He shakes his head._

_His Dad’s friends exchange a look. They’re confused, he realises. They don’t know what to do next. ‘Good,’ he thinks. Maybe they’ll go away._

_Maybe all of this will go away._

_“Steve? Who was at the door…”_

_His Dad has come through from the backyard. He’s grinning, wiping sand off his hands. _

_It’s the last time he’ll ever see his Dad smile like that. Carefree. Happy. Normal._

_He watches his Dad’s expression change. He will remember forever the moment his Dad understood why his friends were standing at the front door instead of his Mom._

_“Go check on your sister.”_

_It’s fear, not disobedience, that makes him disagree. “I want to stay here with y—”_

_His Dad’s eyes meet his. His expression is pained. “I need you to look after your sister, Stevie. Go.”_

_He nods but his body still won’t obey. One step. Two steps. He stops._

_Biting his bottom lip, he listens to his Dad’s friends talking. Words blend: crash, fire, accident. Dead. His vision blurs as his Dad’s voice breaks. With growing horror he realises he’s going to cry. _

_Turning away he looks for something else to focus on. _Anything._ There’s a painting on the wall; it’s the view of Diamond Head from their beach. His Mom’s just finished it. Dad had hung it on the wall the day before. They’d argued about where to put it. But despite the heated words between them he’d known Dad was proud of his Mom._

“Steve? You with us?”

_It’s not happening. It’s not real. It’s not happening. It’s not real._

“Babe?”

Blinking, he brings himself back to the present. He’s standing inside his house, by the front door. Lou, Mary, Joanie and Danny are with him: they’ve just arrived back from the funeral home. They’re staring at him. Their worried expressions speak volumes.

Damn.

“I’m fine,” he replies automatically. 

Danny takes a step towards him. Hesitates. Takes another step. “You sure?” he checks, “because you know, you were kind of out of it there and your face…it’s saying something different.”

Shaking his head, he looks away. Then freezes. The painting is still hanging on the wall, exactly where his Dad had put it all those years before.

He’s vaguely aware that Danny’s looking at the picture too, studying it like it has a secret to reveal.

His heart sinks. Facing the reality of Mary’s grief has drained him. It’s chipped away at the barriers he’s built up around his own grief. A headache is developing behind his eyes.

“I said I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Lou says, his sceptical tone contradicting his words. He shares a glance with Danny. “We were worried, is all.” His lips flap as he huffs. “Any of you eaten today?”

Mary picks up her holdall from the pile of luggage on the floor. Taking Joanie’s hand, she starts for the stairs. “I’m not hungry.”

Suddenly he’s sixteen again and their Mom’s dead. The words slip out of his mouth: “Mare. You’ve got to eat.” 

She doesn’t snap at him, like she would have back then. Instead, she smiles. “We’re good,” she insists, looking down at Joanie. “We’re gonna go play on the beach, aren’t we?”

For a second he feels jealous of her. Of her ability to forget. Then he notices the dark rings under eyes. He remembers how he’d held her in his arms as she’d sobbed her heart out. His heart cracks a little bit more. “Mare…”

She stops. Catches his eye. Then she’s moving and he’s been pulled into a rib-crushing hug.

“I really am okay,” she says, as she pulls away. “Okay, I’m not,” she admits when he raises an eyebrow. “But I can deal.” She glances around the room, inhales deeply. No, he’s not the only one who can see the ghosts, he realises. “I just…I want to sit on the beach and be with them for a while, you know?”

He doesn’t need to ask who she’s talking about. But she’s worried he’s going to think it’s silly; he can tell by the tone of her voice. Pulling her back in, he kisses the top of her head. “I know.”

Danny clears his throat. “If you’re okay here then I’m...” He waves at the door. “I need to go home, get some clothes. I’ll be back soon.”

“Sure,” Mary’s saying but he can’t reply: he’s panicking. Heartbeat rising, his breath is catching in her throat. Looking around, he tries to locate the threat.

Mary nudges him. “Why don’t you go with?”

“What?” His instincts are yelling at him to protect her: his voice has gone high-pitched. He swallows, tries again. “I can’t. We need food and you’ll be here on your own—”

“We’ve got this,” Lou cuts in, gently. “Right, Mary?”

Mary nods. Sharp. Short. Determined. “Right.”

He knows there’s no point arguing with either of them. And there’s no one else apart from Danny he’d trust to look after Mary right now. Still: “I should be—”

“Hey. Stay if you want to.”

Danny’s spoken so quietly he can barely hear him. Danny’s smiling but he doesn’t miss the wistful tone in his voice. A pang of need hits him. He turns back to Mary. “Are you sure?”

A flash of the old Mary reappears as she rolls her eyes. “I’m sure.”

Danny smiles again. Properly this time.

The decision is made: he’s going with Danny. Threat removed, the panic churning in his chest reduces to a ripple, skittering across his skin.

A few minutes later and he’s being hustled into his own truck. The drive to Danny’s place feels surreal – and not only because Danny’s driving and he let him. He feels like he’s been running for the longest time, and now he’s stopped. Yet the world outside is still passing in a high-speed blur.

The surreal feeling continues inside Danny’s house.

Danny’s obviously happy to be home. Opening the front door, he grumbles good-naturedly as he thumbs quickly through all the junk mail he’s received. Then he stops, breathes deeply. Surveys his living room. A look of contentment slides across his face.

“Good to be home?” he asks, because he feels like he should say _something_, even though he feels like he’s talking from inside a bubble. 

“Yeah, it is.” Danny tilts his head, to study him. Guilt washes over him as contentment is replaced with worry again. He takes a step back. He needs _out. _But Danny’s there before him. He’s being tugged towards the kitchen. “Come on. I’ve got something to show you, babe.”

They come to a halt in the kitchen doorway. Danny bounces on the balls of his feet. He’s grinning up him, waiting expectantly. Waiting for him to react. 

Mentally he shakes himself, trying to rid himself of the surreal feeling. He wants to say something, _needs_ to say something, because the kitchen is covered in drawings and paintings. Not just the front of the fridge, but the walls too. Drawings, he suddenly remembers from the conversation in Washington, that Charlie made for him while he was away.

Danny’s beaming with pride. “What do you think? Good, huh? Huh?”

So many drawings. All for him. It still doesn’t feel real. When he picks one up he’s surprised to actually feel paper between his fingertips.

“It’s a dinosaur.” Danny tilts his head to check it out. “Okay, maybe not, maybe that one’s a horse? I mean, you know, some days are better than others.” He pauses, takes a breath. “You like them?”

There’s a note of challenge in Danny’s voice and he gets it. Charlie did all of this for _him_. At the very least he should say thank you. Rubbing his hand across his face, he tries to get this thoughts together. Thank you doesn’t seem like enough. “There’re…so many.”

Danny steps up beside him, slips his arm around his waist. “Every day, babe,” he says quietly, “every day he did something for you.”

He’d felt so alone, tracking his Mom in Mexico. The need to save her had obliterated everything else in his life. For a while there, undercover in Mexico, he’d made himself forget about Danny and his Ohana. The mission had been everything.

He runs his fingers over the drawings, physical proof that he’d been loved and worried about every single day. His chest feels like a metal band is being tightened around it. The grief and anger he’s trapped at the back of his mind scream louder. They shake they wall he’s built about around his emotions. The bricks start falling, one by one. “I’m sorry I left, Danny…I didn’t mean to…I shouldn’t…”

Danny bobs down so he can see his face. “Hey. Hey, it’s okay. It’s alright. You were protecting your family. You had to go. I know that.”

He shakes his head. His counsellor’s been telling him he shouldn’t be afraid of grief. That it’s a necessary process. But he is afraid and it’s coming for him. It’s thundering towards him like a runaway train and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

Absolutely nothing.

He doesn’t realise he’s crying until a drop of water hits the painting. The outline of the pea-green coloured dinosaur starts spreading across the paper. Another drop, then another. The dinosaur’s dissolving into a blob-shaped rainbow of colours. Gradually his vision blurs, until he can’t see the dinosaur at all.

“Steve?”

Panic flares. It feels like something’s crushing him. Something dark and impossibly heavy. _It’s your grief, _he imagines the counsellor telling him. Then it’s on him. Over him. Drowning him. And there’s nothing he can do as it washes him away. His legs fold. He stumbles, dropping the drawing as he blindly grabs for the kitchen table.

“Danny—”

Strong arms are grabbing him. Holding him close, guiding him down. “It’s okay, babe. I got you. I got you.”

His butt hits the floor. He’s shaking, shattering into pieces. “I tried…to bring her home…” Emotion is clogging his throat. He’s struggling to breathe. “I tried to save them. I tried, Danny.”

“That’s not on you, Steve. None of it.”

Danny sounds wrecked. He blinks, trying to clear his eyes: he needs to tell Danny it’s okay. Danny’s arms are wrapped around him though, making it impossible to move. His face is nestled against Danny’s chest. He can feel the warmth of Danny’s body against his. _You are loved, _the counsellor’s voice reminds him. _Let him help you through this._

Closing his eyes, he cries.

H50H50H50

He comes awake with a gasp. His mind is caught between dreams and reality. For a moment, he struggles to understand where he is. Then it hits him. His breath catches in his throat again.

He’s home.

He’s in his own bedroom. The one that used to belong to his parents. The one he hasn’t ever decorated, he realises, as he takes in his surroundings and the dream and reality threaten to merge again.

The last Mother’s Day before his Mom died: that’s what he’d been dreaming about. He and Mary had cooked her breakfast and the four of them had sat here and ate it and…

Rubbing his hand over his face, he blots out the memory. Assuming it is a real memory of course. Reconciling his teenage memories of his Mom with the Mom who came back from the dead has always been difficult.

Particularly now.

Rubbing his face again, he grimaces. His eyes are gummy from crying. He feels trampled. Raw. Hollow. The events of the previous evening come back to him. He grimaces again.

Danny calling Lou. Lou driving the two of them home. Mary hovering as they’d got him to bed. Joanie in the background asking if he was sick. Danny insisting on staying with him when all he’d wanted was to die of embarrassment because he couldn’t stop crying.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

The tears are still lurking now. Threatening to tip him over the edge at the slightest thing. The anger stirs. He’s not this person. His Mom, Freddie, his Dad, Joe. He’s never cried this much. Never.

_You’re an idiot._

The voice in his head sounds exasperated. Fond. Worried. Familiar. So familiar that when he rolls his head to the right he’s expecting to find Danny awake, watching him.

He’s disappointed: Danny’s asleep.

Danny’s curled on his side, hands tucked under his cheek. He resists the urge to reach out and smooth away the deep crease between Danny’s eyebrows, the dark shadows under his eyes. Danny looks worried, even while he’s asleep.

When he slides out of bed a few minutes later, he tells himself it’s to get a drink. But it’s guilt that’s driving him as he pads silently along the landing and past Mary and Joanie’s room. Danny had been so glad to be home. So proud of Charlie. 

He hadn’t even let Danny enjoy that.

The sun’s coming up, just enough to see by. Passing through the living room, he deliberately averts his eyes from his Mom’s painting. From the lies attached to it. Switching the light on in the kitchen, he winces. He’s dehydrated. He’s got a headache. Retrieving ibuprofen from a cupboard, he fills a glass with water and downs both.

Leaning back against the worktop, he waits for the drugs to work.

This room hasn’t changed much either. He’s pretty sure what his counsellor would say about that: when you feel like you’ve been cast adrift, you cling to the familiar to keep you afloat.

Huffing to himself, he sips at the water. No wonder Mary wouldn’t let him touch the rest of Aunt Deb’s house.

A squeaking floorboard drags him out of his retrospection. He listens. Waits. Another squeak, then another. Someone’s coming down the stairs, carefully.

Danny appears in the doorway. He’s wearing shorts and a crumpled white tee. His hair’s flopped to one side and over his forehead. Raising his tee-shirt, he scratches at his belly. Yawning widely, he squints at the bright light. “You o--”

“C’me here,” he cuts in, putting the glass down. 

“I woke up and you’d—”

“Get over here.” 

He’s relieved when Danny shuts up and shuffles towards him. He’s got no energy for conversation. The damn tears are threatening again. What he needs right now is Danny in his arms. Lucky for him, Danny seems to need the same.

“I love Charlie’s pictures,” he says, his voice faltering with emotion, as they wrap their arms round each other. 

Danny mutters back, somewhat predictably, “You’re an idiot.”

His heart feels like it’s going to burst. He’s not sure what expression he’s wearing. But suddenly he’s being called a goof. And then he’s being kissed. Deeply. And he’s on the verge of crying again.

_Damn._

“Hey, hey,” Danny admonishes, when he tries to pull away. “What did I tell you yesterday, huh? They’re healthy. And after what you’ve been through, I gotta say they’re long overdue.”

Swiping his hand across his eyes, he tries to get himself under control. Agreeing with Danny is one thing. Believing it for himself, that’s much harder. He’s about to say that when Danny very effectively cuts him off with another kiss.

“Joanie and Mary are gonna be awake soon. How about I fix the coffee and you get a shower?” Danny suggests, checking the clock on the wall. A shadow crosses his face. “We’ve got to be at the cemetery in a few hours.”

His stomach roils with dread. The cemetery. His Mom’s funeral. He nods, pecks another quick kiss on Danny’s lips. At the doorway, he realises he’s forgotten to say something important. “Danny—”

“—I know, I love you too,” Danny shoots back, not missing a beat. “Now go. It’s gonna be a long day…”

H50h50H50

Danny’s prediction is right.

Unsurprisingly, Mary wakes up grumpy. Joanie picks up on it, she’s emotional too. Breakfast turns into a series of short, snapped conversations. Mary doesn’t want to eat anything which puts him on edge. His headache blows up, which means he picks at the scrambled eggs Danny’s made for him. Danny fusses round all of them, not kidding anyone that he’s okay.

He can’t find his black tie anywhere: he resorts to upending his sock drawer over the bed. Mary can’t find her black shoes, despite packing them before they travelled from California. Danny ends up plaiting Joanie’s hair because no one else wants to and Joanie’s determined that’s how she wants her hair.

By the time Lou comes to drive them to the cemetery, they’re barely speaking.

As he climbs into the back of Lou’s truck with Mary and Joanie, he’s quietly relieved no one’s talking. Taking Mary’s hand, he can see she feels the same way. Right now, they could be sharing good memories about their Mom, together. It’s too complicated though. 

He can count on his fingers the number of times he’s visited his Mom’s grave. Mary’s visited even less. They’d even discussed burying her somewhere else this time, starting afresh. Burying someone twice though – it turns out – is complicated. So they’d gone with the CIA’s suggestion and arranged for her to be interned in the same place.

The first time they buried his Mom most of HPD had turned out for the burial. So many people patting him on the back. Offering their condolences. Telling him how much he looked like this Dad. Not for the first time he wonders how many of them _knew. _The body in the car. In the mortuary. In the casket. The CIA are good but not that good. How many people were paid to look the other way?

A shiver slides down his spine. He grips Mary’s hand tighter.

This time they haven’t invited anyone – that would have taken a hell of a lot of explaining too – but as Lou pulls into the cemetery he realises they won’t be alone. The team are waiting, dressed in black and huddled under umbrellas to ward off a light shower.

The condolences this time are real. The hugs are heartfelt. 

The actual service is brief. He’s been dreading it, expecting it to resurrect memories of the first funeral that he’s managed to bury. Instead, it passes in a blur. All he’s aware of is Danny’s hand wrapped around his on one side. Mary’s holding his hand on the other. And the love that’s surrounding him and Mary – he can feel that like it’s a physical thing.

It’s not until he’s back home, sitting alone in his bedroom, that he realises he didn’t cry. He mentally prods the realisation, examining it. The grief’s still there, raw. Unfettered. Beneath all that, he just feels grateful. Grateful that she’s home, even if it’s not in the way he wanted. Grateful that he has all these people around him. Extremely grateful he has Danny by his side. 

It doesn’t make him feel as guilty as it did two short weeks ago.

Shaking his head at the weird fickleness of his own brain, he levers himself off the bed. The new counsellor who’s been recommended to him - a military veteran specialist based at Pearl – is going to have a field day, he thinks. 

He’s tired. The headache still hasn’t shifted. The urge to flop back on the bed and pass out is almost overwhelming. But there are voices downstairs: his Ohana. The smell of grilling steaks wafts through the open window. Joanie’s giggling at something: the sound of pure and innocent joy. 

That’s his future out there, he reminds himself. Being there for Joanie, Charlie, Grace and Nahele as they grow up. Evenings spent with Danny on the beach, planning their future together. Nights (and days) spent together in this bed.

Slowly, he takes off his black suit.

Hanging it up in the wardrobe, he smooths out the creases. Zipping a suit carrier over it, he prays he won’t have to wear it again soon, like he always does. It’s as he’s closing the wardrobe, something else catches his eye. 

His Navy Blues. Stored in their own carrier with a US Navy crest on the front. Opening the door wider, he runs his hand over it. Feels the bumps where the buttons and rank insignia are. Resting his hand over the ribbons, he sends up another prayer. To Joe. To Freddie. To all the friends he’s lost. 

Closing the door, he turns his back on it. His future relationship with the Navy – with the CIA - is a problem for another day.

Right now he’s going to go downstairs and tell his friends stories about who his Mom used to be. The Mom that used to teach him and Mary magic tricks. The Mom who couldn’t cook but loved to paint and listen to music. Who taught him to paddle and shared his love of the water. He’s going to tell them about _that_ Mom. And at the end of the evening, he’ll raise his glass and thank her for her service.

She deserves, he thinks, at least that.

Slipping on a short-sleeved shirt and cut-off cargo pants he checks himself in the mirror. She’d be giving him hell about his longer hair, he thinks. He’d shaved that morning but his chin’s still bristly. No doubt she’d have an opinion on that too.

A pang of sadness hits him. The hair, the scruff, it’s all because Danny likes it. He wishes he’d had the chance to tell her about his relationship with Danny. She would have been surprised, he thinks. She would have given Danny hell over it. She would have been happy for him though. For _them_. He’s sure of that.

Holding the thought close, he heads downstairs. It’s surprisingly peaceful, despite the laughter and chatter outside. Giving himself a moment, he takes it all in. 

His eyes drift back towards his Mom’s painting. Drawn like a moth to a flame, he walks over to it. He can remember so clearly the day his Dad hung the painting. How his Mom had argued he wasn’t doing it right. That was his Mom and Dad though; they always argued. They liked to make up too: laughter, touching, kissing. Love.

There are so many memories in this house. Not all of them are bad.

Resting his hand on the painting, he lets himself smile. “I love you, Mom.”

As he turns to go outside and join Danny and his Ohana, he’s sure he hears her reply:

_‘I love you too, baby.’_

To be continued...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole story is written. But as I'm going through proof-reading it I've added a few more bits which is why it's got longer. Sorry about that :0) It really is going to be 11 chapters plus an epilogue now.


	11. Steve

Stepping out of the shower, he pushes his dripping hair back out of his face. Grabbing a fresh towel out of the closet, he starts drying himself off. He’s still got bubbles in his hair. Actually, he’s got bubbles where he didn’t know bubbles could go. Tilting his head, he digs at an annoying bubble stuck in his ear.

The shower turns off. Danny steps out. “You’ve missed one, babe,” he grins, reaching over to swipe at his nose with his thumb. 

Jerking back, he scrunches up his face. “You’re a menace. How did you manage to get the shower gel _everywhere?”_

Nudging him out of the way, Danny grabs a towel for himself. “You weren’t complaining a minute ago when I was using it as—”

“Sssh.” Panicked, he puts his finger to his lips. “Mary and Joanie are across the hall.”

Danny shrugs. “You think she doesn’t know we just had—”

“Don’t—”

“—sex? Earth-shatteringly good—”

“Earth shatteringly?”

“What? That not good enough for you now? How about toe-curlingly great—”

“_Danny_.”

Danny grins at him. It’s all teeth. “Sex. Sex. Sex. _Sex.”_

“Would you please keep it down? What is _wrong _with you?”

Danny spreads his arms wide, like a marathon runner celebrating a win. “I’ve waited nearly three months for that blow job, babe. Excuse me if I want to enjoy the moment.”

His brain goes blank. Danny’s skin is still damp from his shower. His hair’s slicked over to one side. Water droplets are clinging to his tightly curled chest hair. And the way he’s flexing his biceps…

He swallows hard. Tells himself to breathe. He’s still light-headed from his own orgasm. His knees feel like jelly. But right now, he wishes he could do it all again.

It’s a nice idea, but it not’s going to happen. His libido, it’s still fucked up. _Don’t force it, _he can hear the counsellor telling him. _It’ll happen. Just take it one day at a time._

She’d been right, he reflects, as he leans in for a kiss. Two days after his Mom’s funeral, he’s struggling again. Danny’s suggestion that they shower together had been to offer comfort, to wash the returning nightmares away. The fact that it had quickly turned into something different, that gives him hope. Renewed energy. 

Which is good, because it’s a very important day.

H50H50h50

It’s the day of Charlie’s birthday party. He’s got plans. Big plans.

He’s in the backyard, halfway up a step-ladder, when Mary finds him. He had the brilliant idea – at least he thought it was – of using Charlie’s drawings to decorate the house and backyard. He’s strung rope from tree to tree. Now all he needs to figure out is how to attach the drawings.

Backing down the steps, he glares at her. “Don’t say it.”

“Don’t say what?” she shoots back, innocently.

“Anything. Don’t say anything.” He glowers at the creased drawing he’s holding. He’d planned to thread cotton through the corner, and tie the drawing onto the rope. So far it’s taken him fifteen minutes to put up three drawings. It’s fiddly, his fingers are just too big.

“Give it to me—“

“I can do it—“

“Says only you—“

With a sigh, he concedes defeat. “Fine. Just…be careful with them, okay?”

With a surprisingly amount of gentleness, she takes it from him. “It’s just a birthday party,” she reminds him, resting the paper against her thigh to smooth it out. “Relax, okay?”

He resists the urge to sigh again. “I know but…I want Charlie to have fun. He’s had to wait so long and I—“

A nudge from her elbow cuts him off. “Look at this,” she says, turning round to take in the back of the house and the whole of the yard. “How is he not going to have fun?”

On the lanai there are long bench tables, with chairs. They’re covered in table cloths decorated with superheroes. There’s a big banner proclaiming ‘Happy Birthday Charlie!’ They’ve got games arranged and pizza – enough pizza to feed a Navy SEAL team up range for months – and birthday cake. There’re sticky desserts, ice cream, chocolate and enough sugar to keep Charlie and friends wired by hours. Maybe even days. 

Down by the beach, they’ve set up more things to do. Joanie’s already sitting there, playing in the sand. Dressed in a full length swim suit and a sun hat with a brim, she’s ready for a day by the water. Deep in concentration, she’s in the middle of digging a moat around a sandcastle. ‘It’s for Charlie,’ she’d explained earlier, when he’d asked her if she wanted to help with the decorations. It’s a toss-up who was more excited this morning about seeing Charlie: Danny or Joanie.

“You’ve got it bad, haven’t you?”

He knows what Mary’s talking about. That doesn’t mean he has to give in easily. “Excuse me?”

Mary rolls her eyes at him. “Don’t worry. I think it’s cute.”

“_Cute_?”

“The food, the decorations, the clothes—“

He looks down at himself. “What’s wrong with my clothes?”

Taking a step back, she studies him. “I could be wrong but the black shirt doesn’t look cheap. Clean jeans, new sneakers—“

“Hey. My jeans are always clean.”

“They’re _jeans, _Steve,” she replies, throwing her hands in the air. “Not cargo pants or board shorts. And you’ve worn nothing but ratty old tee-shirts and slippahs since we got back but now--”

Crossing his arms, he stares down his nose at her. It’s a technique he’s honed to scare suspects into submission in the blue room. “Is there an actual point to this conversation?”

Proving that McGarretts are made of stronger stuff than the average Hawaiian criminal, she grins up him. “The point is, Steven, this is a children’s birthday party. You look like you’re going on a date.”

Damn it. Working his jaw, he considers his options. There are none. “How do I look?”

“You look good,” she replies, her grin growing as she flicks a non-existent speck of dust off his shoulder. “When’s Danny due back?”

He checks his watch. Danny’s got Charlie for the whole weekend. It hadn’t taken much to persuade Danny to make the morning father and son time, just the two of them. This afternoon’s the party. Tomorrow Grace is joining them. They’re going to barbeque, catch up and chill out together. 

“He should be picking Charlie up from Rachel’s about now,” he replies, his mind already skipping down the list of instructions Danny’s left plus a few surprises of his own. Working out pizza cooking times, how long it’s going to take to hang the pictures up, whether Mary’s got a point and maybe he should change back into a tee-shirt and boardies…

“Does Rachel know?”

Reality comes rushing back in. He raises his eyes to Mary’s. “About me and Danny? No. He wants Grace and Charlie to hear the news from us first. Then…” He licks his lips. His mouth has gone dry. “Then…you know, assuming they’re happy, he’s going to tell Rachel.”

Mary raises her eyebrows. “_Assuming _they’re happy?”

“They might not be—”

Mary lets out a long-suffering sigh. “If Danny was here you know what he would say?”

Worrying at a tuft of grass with the toe of his sneaker, he smiles. “I’m an idiot.”

“You said it.” She waves the picture under his nose. “No more talking. I got to do these. And you, you need to get in that kitchen and start cooking.”

Relieved to be back on a safe subject, he grins. “I got this,” he replies, heading for the house.

“Are you sure?” she shoots back as she climbs up the step ladder. “When those kids see that food, they’re going to be like a sea of locusts eating everything in their path. If you run out of food—”

He pauses, one foot on the lanai. “This isn’t my first birthday party.”

“With twenty kids? You sure you can handle this?”

_She has a point, _a voice in the back of his head tells him. Mustering up the last few shreds of his dignity, he goes for the bluff: “I’m a Navy SEAL, Mary. I’m pretty sure I’m capable of running a children’s birthday party.”

Her answering laughter follows him all the way into the house.

H50H50H50

Four hours later and he has to concede that Mary’s right. Although not in the way she’d probably meant.

The first part of plan – getting the house ready for the party – had gone well. Standing out in the backyard, listening to Danny’s car pull up out front, he’d been nervous as hell. Then Charlie had thundered through the house like always – and come to an abrupt halt on the lanai. The surprise on his face had been almost comical: slapping his hands over his mouth, his eyes had gone wide. 

For a moment, he and Charlie had stared at each other. Nerves had robbed him of the ability to move. Luckily Charlie wasn’t suffering from the same problem: in the blink of an eye Charlie was wrapped around his legs. Kneeling down, he’d pulled Charlie into his arms and hugged him. Then Charlie was clinging back, and Mary and Joanie were there, and Charlie was even more excited and so was Joanie, and there was more hugging, and Charlie was telling him about the pictures, then Charlie was telling Joanie about his pictures and Joanie was telling him about her sandcastle and the backyard was alive with voices.

It was good. _So_ good. Head bowed, he’d given himself a moment to take it all in. 

When he’d looked up again, Joanie was towing Charlie towards the sandcastle, Mary a few steps behind. Grinning to himself, he’d got to his feet.

“You’ve been busy.” Danny was standing in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb. Dressed for the beach, sun-kissed and grinning widely, he looked like an advert for the benefits of living in Hawaii.

Smoothing down the front of his black shirt, he’d tried not to stare. Not with Charlie watching. “It wasn’t all me. Mary and Joanie helped.” Swallowing hard, he’d cleared his throat. “Do you like it?”

Danny’s eyes had slid over him. Top to toe. Slowly. “Do I like it? Get _in _here.”

Moments later they’d been in the kitchen, kissing. Danny had tasted of cherry shave ice. They’d made out until the sound of small running feet had made them pull apart, laughing.

It had been a good morning. Now it’s a couple of hours later. Charlie’s friends have arrived and everyone is in the backyard having a great time. Except him.

Leaning on the edge of the kitchen sink, he’s telling himself to breathe. Just fucking _breathe._ Too much noise. Too many people. It’s been creeping up him all afternoon, this need to move, to get out. Now the adrenaline rush has hit critical. _Ride it out, _his counsellor’s voice is telling him. Easier said than done with twenty small children in the house: every high-pitched squeal is making him flinch.

Resisting the urge to pop a pill to take the edge off – they knock him out – he’s resorted to breathing exercises. Gradually his heartbeat slows. Encouraged, he continues counting to himself_: inhale,_ _one, two, three, four…_

“Steve?”

The sound of Danny’s voice behind him rachets up his heartrate. _Exhale, one, two, three, four…_

“You okay, babe?”

There’s no point in lying. His body sags with defeat. _Inhale, one, two, three, four…_

“You taken anything?”

Shaking his head, he wills Danny not to argue the point. _Exhale, one, two, three, four…_

“You’re doing great.”

The touch of Danny’s hand resting between his shoulder blades is welcome. Instinctively he tilts his back towards the warmth, the comfort. _Inhale, one, two, three, four…_

“Here. Let me help.”

Danny’s rubbing circles on his back. He’d complain about being treated like a baby if it didn’t feel so damn good. Abandoning the counting, he concentrates on Danny’s touch instead. Gradually his anxiety lessens. Finally, he feels like he’s gained back control.

“Better?”

Releasing his death-grip on the edge of the sink, he rubs his hand across his face. His skin feels clammy. His shirt is clinging to his skin.

“Talk to me, babe.”

He forces himself to turn round. “Better.” The worry in Danny’s eyes make his heart catch in his throat. “Really,” he insists, but Danny’s reaching up, stroking his thumb across his cheek. The care, the love in the gesture, it stops him in his tracks. Leaning into it, he lets his eyes drift closed.

“Sorry for not knocking but the front door was open and…oh.”

His stomach plummets. He opens his eyes. Rachel’s standing in the kitchen doorway. Her mouth is frozen in shocked ‘o’. Her eyes flick between him and Danny. A myriad of emotions cross her face: confusion, denial. And finally, anger.

“Rachel. Let me explain—”

“Charlie’s pyjamas,” Rachel snaps, cutting Danny off. She’s holding a small travel bag. She throws it on the worktop. “I forgot to pack them.”

Danny raises his hands, in surrender. “I’m sorry okay, but it’s not what you think—”

Rachel’s derisive snort speaks volumes. “You lied to me.” Her gaze flicks over to him. Shaking her head, she runs her fingers through her hair. “Jesus, Danny. Please don’t tell me Grace and Charlie know. If you’ve made them lie to me—”

“No.” Two pairs of eyes swivel to stare at him. Backing out isn’t an option though: Danny’s clearly distraught at her accusation and that’s not fair. “If you want to be angry at someone, be angry at me, Rachel. He would have told you earlier but…since my Mom died I’ve been…” He trails off, settles for tapping his temple with his forefinger instead. “Give him a chance. Hear him out.”

She takes a step back. Stops. Nods once. Short, tense. “Five minutes. That’s all you’re getting, Danny.”

Rachel’s agreement is the signal that his role is over. No matter how much he wants to stay. Giving Danny a nod of encouragement, he prepares to leave.

Danny stops him with a gentle squeeze of his elbow. “You stay in here, babe. Take your time. We’ll be upstairs.” 

The lump of emotion in his throat makes it impossible to say anything as Danny leads his ex-wife out of the kitchen. Turning to stare sightlessly out of the kitchen window, he listens to Danny and Rachel walk upstairs. There’s a pause. Then the door to guest bedroom – Mary’s room – opens and closes.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, he walks into the living room. His eyes drift to the stairs. Dragging them away, he focuses on the party outside. On Charlie. Steeling himself for the noise, he walks out onto the lanai.

Charlie’s playing with his friends, oblivious to what’s happening upstairs. Watching him, he scrubs both hands over his face. Danny’s relationship with Rachel has always been – will always be – complicated. The last thing he’d wanted to do was make it worse for Danny. And definitely not for Grace and Charlie.

Mary’s watching him from her seat by the beach. Joanie’s playing in the sand with a new-found friend. When she catches his eye, he forces himself to smile at her. She frowns, half-rises. Silently, he shakes his head.

The noise, the tension, it’s making him feel on edge again. Looking for a distraction, he wipes down the table. He’s picking a blob of cold mozzarella off the tablecloth with a knife when he hears the front door open and close. Scraping at it harder, he grits his teeth. Throughout the hell with his Mom, he’s held onto an idealised image of how his future with Danny would pan out. It’s based only on their three days together before he went to Mexico and his vivid imagination.

How wilfully blind to reality has he been?

“She’s gone. You can stop now.”

He starts. Looks down. The mozzarella’s smeared across the table cloth: he’s beaten it to a pulp. Carefully, he places the knife on the table. Turning round brings him face to face with Danny. Danny’s cheeks are flushed. A muscle in his jaw is twitching. But mostly, he looks weary.

Without thinking, he reaches out to offer comfort. Panic flashes across Danny’s face. “It’s okay,” he soothes, but even as he’s saying it he knows it isn’t. Not here. Not right now, with Rachel’s words still hanging in the air between them and Charlie playing a few feet away. 

His heart stings at the inferred rejection.

This is the new reality, he reminds himself. The ups and downs of a long-term relationship, between two people with complicated histories. So far, Danny’s been doing all the heavy lifting. Now it’s his turn to step up. 

Taking another calming breath, he rests his hands on his hips: no touching. “Later,” he promises, putting all he’s feeling into the words. 

Danny doesn’t answer. His eyes are doing the talking for him. His message is loud and clear. _I love you._

“Great,” he hears himself stutter. _Smooth, _his inner voice says, mockingly. Danny grins, like he’s been party to his internal dialogue. It’s a genuine grin. Beautiful. So Danny.

He has no choice: he grins back.

_We can do this, _he tells himself as Charlie runs up, asking for birthday cake. As Danny tickles his son in the ribs until they’re both red in the face from giggling so much. It won’t be easy: they’ll be more incidences like the one with Rachel. Hell, it’s not like living with him will ever be a breeze. But some things in life are worth fighting for. And if there’s one thing he’s very good at, it’s fighting for his family.

H50H50H50 .

‘Later’ turns out to be much later. The sun is setting by the time he heads to the beach, a cold beer in each hand.

They’ve cleared the back yard: there’s no sign of the chaos left behind by Charlie and his friends. He’s left Mary stretched out on the sofa watching TV, exhausted from the effort of getting Charlie and Joanie to settle down. As he’s crossing the lawn giggling sounds drift down from the open window of the guest bedroom. Grinning to himself he pretends he hasn’t heard them.

Approaching the chairs by the beach, he sobers. Danny’s waiting for him there; he looks pensive. It’s the same expression that he’s caught on Danny’s face several times during the afternoon. Silently he curses Rachel. Not for her initial reaction – he sympathises with that. Spoiling Danny’s day with Charlie; that’s what he’s angry about. 

It’s why he’s feeling guilty too.

_Not everything is about you, _his inner voice reminds him. It has, he thinks, a hint of his Mom about it. Grimacing, he silences it. Dropping down beside Danny, in the spare chair, he hands over a beer.

Silence descends as he takes his first sip of beer. The sea is reflecting the deep orange of the sunset. Waves are lapping against the beach. The sand is littered with holes and sandcastles, the detritus of Charlie’s party. The day hasn’t been all bad, he reminds himself. Not bad at all.

Taking another sip of beer, he indulges himself with a glimpse of Danny’s side profile. His heart flip-flops in response. The soft light is emphasising the features of Danny’s face: the strength, the laughter lines, the scars from fist fights long forgotten. The deep frown between his eyebrows as he stares out to sea.

Danny’s shoulders stiffen. Tipping back his head, he takes a long drag of his beer. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Sucking on his bottom lip, Danny goes back to staring out to sea.

His heart aches at the sadness in Danny’s eyes. The argument with Rachel is a minefield that he’s not going to venture into without an invitation from Danny. Searching for safe territory, he checks his watch, does a quick calculation. “Grace will be here in eleven hours, twenty two minutes and fifteen seconds. No…fourteen seconds….thirteen…”

Danny snorts in reply. He’s still staring out to sea but he’s smiling. The worried frown has softened. “Can’t wait,” he sighs, taking another drink. As he lowers the bottle, his smile disappears. He sighs. “Rachel and me…I can’t…without her I wouldn’t have Grace and Charlie.”

He takes a sip of his own beer. “I know.”

“You want to know what she said?”

Danny’s still looking away from him, so it’s difficult to read his expression. He feels like he’s being tested though. The only thing Danny will accept is the truth. No lies. “Of course I want to know. She upset you and I want to—” He cuts himself off. There’s such a thing as too much truth. Taking a breath, he tries again. “Look, I get that there are boundaries. You and me, we’ve got history, things we don’t want to talk about and that’s okay."

Danny’s nodding, hunching forward. Forearms resting on his knees, the beer bottle dangles between his fingers. He breathes deep: his back rises and falls, stretching the fabric of his tee-shirt. “Rachel reminded me of some things today and as much I hate, _really_ hate it, she’s got a point.”

Rachel making a point doesn’t sound like good news. He leans forward too, chasing Danny down, trying to see his face. “Like what?”

Danny huffs, without humour. His beer bottle is swinging like a pendulum, counting out the seconds of the painful silence that’s fallen between them. “When we got married, I figured we’d be like my parents,” he explains eventually, his gaze fixed on his feet, “we’d have arguments, we’d make up but we were in love so it’d be okay, you know? Then…” Danny trails off, runs his hand across his mouth. “Then 9/11 happened and my partner Grace died and…”

“And things changed?” he offers, quietly.

“Yeah.” Danny rubs his hand over his mouth again. He turns his head. Their eyes meet. “What I’m saying is, it’s not easy being in a relationship with a cop. Are you...are you sure that’s what you want?”

On another day the question would have shocked him. Not today. He holds Danny’s gaze. Leans in so there’s no mistaking the intent in his eyes. He doesn’t look over his shoulder but he can feel the weight of the house behind him, the memories it contains. “You think I don’t know that?”

Danny doesn’t blink. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m sure.”

“It’s a lot is all I’m saying.”

Doubt is creeping in. Pulling back, he frowns. “I answered, Danny. What do you want me to say?”

Danny drops his eyes. He starts picking at the label on the bottle with his thumbnail. “I never asked you…those three days…they were amazing but it’s not always going to be like that and—”

Silently he curses Rachel again. Her visit has opened old wounds, exposed vulnerabilities – and not just Danny’s. Loneliness and abandonment are fears he understands only too well.

Reaching out, he wraps his hand around Danny’s. “After everything that’s happened in the last few months you think I don’t know that. Really? _Really?_”

“It’s gonna be tough.” Exhaling noisily, Danny finally looks up. “It’s even gonna be boring sometimes.”

Despite the heavy mood, he smiles. “You’re really selling it.”

“I’m trying to be serious—”

“I know what I’m getting into, okay?” He raises a finger, a reply to the hand that Danny’s now waving in front of his face. ”I want to wake up with you in the mornings and take the trash out with you, and do the laundry, and cook dinner together and spend time with Charlie and Grace, and I know we’ll argue because we always argue but making up will be—”

“You want to take out the _trash _with me?”

He stops, blindsided for a moment. “You said it would be boring so I thought of something boring—”

“The _trash—”_

“Fine. Whatever. I’ll take the trash out on my own but you’d better do the dish—”

“It’s not about the trash—”

“I know that—”

“So let me talk and—”

“I’m not going to let you down, Danny.” The words have tumbled out. They’re spur of the moment. Unplanned.

Danny freezes. His gaze travels over his face. “Babe—"

“I mean it—”

“I know.” Danny’s still studying him. “Damn,” he breathes, “your face…”

Instinctively, he lifts his hand up to check it. “What’s wrong with it?”

Danny intercepts it. “It’s your Rambo face. Target acquired. Mission focused. Screw the consequences. That face.”

_I don’t have a face, _he goes to say but the words die on his lips. Maybe his face is saying ‘do or die’ but he’s cool with that. He’s waited a long time for this relationship with Danny. He’s going to make every day the best it can be, whatever the circumstances.

Danny whistles under his breath. “Steve. You’re gonna be the death of me.”

No one’s ever looked at him the way Danny is now. Absurdly, it makes him feel unsure. “That’s good, right?”

Danny shuts him up by grabbing his shirt, hauling him in, and kissing him soundly. His brain takes a second, then it’s joining in with enthusiasm. The situation’s not ideal – prying little eyes might spot them from the guest bedroom – but they make the most of the lengthening shadows. It’s a while before they pull apart again.

Danny picks up the conversation right where they left off. “That’s good,” he whispers, shifting so their foreheads are touching. “You understand that’s not the last time we’re going to have this particular conversation?” he adds, apologetically. “Sometimes, you know, I get…you’re not the only one with baggage, you understand me?

Danny’s stroking the back of his neck. It’s distracting. Instead of saying something about baggage and sharing the load he hums his understanding instead. The truth, he decides vaguely, is that they’ve being doing that for each other for a long time. All that’s changed is they’ve acknowledged the fact to each other. Oh. And the fact he’s sharing his feelings.

That’s definitely new. 

The anxiety he’d suffered from earlier is still lurking, but not so much he notices it. In its place, a general feeling of contentment is sneaking up on him. That’s quickly followed by a wave of tiredness. It shows itself by making him yawn, widely. 

Danny gets to his feet, offers him his hand. “It’s been a long day,” he says, his words packed with so much meaning. “We both need our sleep.”

Together they walk back to the house, elbows touching on each stride. One foot on the lanai, he listens for giggling coming from the guest room. A glance at Danny’s face tells him that he’s not the only one who heard them. 

Danny grimaces. “I owe Mary one. They’re still both gonna be awake early o’clock. She’s not going to sleep much tonight.”

He nods, his eyes, travelling over the back of the house. Measuring. Calculating. “We’re going to need more space. It’s okay if Mary and Joanie aren’t here but Charlie’s getting older and Grace won’t want to share with him—”

“You asking me to move in, babe?”

His brain stutters. Stops. Starts again. Shit. Another subject they haven’t discussed. Danny looks pissed. “I figured…I mean…you’re always here so…” He trails off: Danny’s pissed look has turned into a cheeky grin. “Are you…are you messing me with?”

Danny stretches up on his toes. He plants another kiss. “Of course I’m moving in with you, you goof.”

His heart rates slides down to a more reasonable level. “I’m serious, Danny. We got to make more space. I was thinking maybe if I took out the wall in the office, extended out at the back—”

“You don’t mean right now, do you?”

Danny is still grinning at him: the opportunity to get his own back is too good to miss. “I could start on that wall tonight,” he suggests casually. “By the time Grace gets here…Get off me,” he hisses, as Danny tickles him in the ribs.

“Not what you were saying this morning,” Danny whispers as they sneak inside.

“Like you were complaining,” he shoots back.

The lights in the living room are off. Mary’s empty wine glass is on the coffee table. They creep up the stairs like naughty teenagers. Carefully stepping over the squeaky floorboards, they navigate their way into the bedroom.

_Their bedroom, _his brain supplies helpfully. He holds the thought close as they get ready for bed. Sliding under the sheets, he willingly lets Danny pull him into his arms. The worry that he’s going to be woken by bad dreams is at the back of his mind, like always: having Charlie and Joanie in the house makes it worse. _Focus on something else_, he can hear his counsellor saying, so that’s what he does.

He focuses on Danny’s half-naked body wrapped around his. The contours of Danny’s muscled flesh. The warmth of Danny’s body: he’s a human furnace. The soft little huff noises that Danny makes when he’s sleeping. The creaks of an old house, settling down for the night. The waves lapping against the beach. The knowledge that Mary, Charlie and Joanie, are safe in the house with him and Danny.

He takes all of these things and lets them wash over him. As they drag him down towards sleep he doesn’t resist. The last few months have been tough – maybe the toughest – but it’s been worth it, he thinks, just for this.

To be continued…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just chapter 12 to go - the epilogue :)


	12. Epilogue - Steve

Ever since returning home from Mexico, he’s been measuring his life on milestones. Getting his Mom home. Her funeral. Charlie’s birthday party. A lazy morning spent in bed with Danny.

He’s successfully achieved all of them – the last one several times – so when it’s time to go back to work he treats it as just another milestone. Five minutes into his return to work meeting with the Governor, he discovers fate has one final curve ball to deliver.

Sitting across the desk from the Governor, he shifts uncomfortably in his chair. He’s dressed smartly for the meeting. Dark suit, pale blue shirt. He’s starting to regret his choice: he’s sweating. Running his finger under the collar of his shirt, he tries to process what she’s just told him. “You want me to take one day a week off?”

She’s smiling faintly at him. Sympathy is written across her face. “You don’t have to make it sound like it’s a bad thing, Steve.”

Her tone sends a shiver of dread down his spine: she sounds like she’s talking to a victim. Tugging at the hem of his jacket, he sits up straight. “I’ve been medically cleared for duty.”

“I know that.”

“Then I don’t understand—”

“You’re still attending counselling, yes?”

_You know I am. _ “Every Tuesday, at Pearl. I’ll be gone for two hours at most. It that’s a problem then I don’t have to—”

“Steve. It’s not a problem.”

“Good.” Head tilted, she’s leaning towards him, her hands folded in front of her. _Shit. _“If this is about making sure I take time off then let me assure you, I always make sure I have downtime. My team too. Sometimes we have to work weekends but I always make sure—”

“I’m not worried about your team.”

“Okay. Then…then I don’t understand.”

“I’m worried about you.”

He rubs his palm on his trouser leg. “Like I said, I’ve been signed off by the HPD doctor, as long as I attend the counselling.”

The Governor smiles again. “How long have you been the Head of Five-0?”

“I don’t see—”

“Ten years,” she cuts in, gently. “And how long were you in the Navy before that?”

He swallows hard. “A while.”

She studies her hands for a moment. Then she meets his gaze. “Have you ever thought of taking some time for yourself?”

_Milestones. Work. Targets. _“I think I’ve had plenty of time off. I’m ready to come back to work.”

The Governor nods, thoughtfully. Slowly. “One day a week. Take the day. See your counsellor. Go exercise. Walk your dog. Do whatever makes you happy.”

“My team—”

“—have done an excellent job while you’ve been away. They’ll manage.”

The words sting, even though he knows they shouldn’t. “Is that…are you giving me an order, Governor?”

Her expression changes: part-sympathetic, part-exasperated. “I’m a concerned colleague. That’s all.”

He forces a smile. “Thank you for your…consideration. I’ll think about it.”

Driving from the Governor’s mansion to Five-0 headquarters, it’s the only thing he can think of. Stepping into the office, it goes out of his head. They’ve got a case, he’s thrown back in at the deep end. He grabs onto it, like a lifeline. It’s not until later that evening, sitting on the couch with Danny, watching TV and drinking beers, that he lets himself think about it again.

Danny turns the sound down on the TV. “Want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

_No, _he thinks then stops himself. That’s not how things work now. Sliding under Danny’s proffered arm, he explains his conversation with the Governor. 

Sucking on his bottom lip, Danny mulls over the news. Eventually he shrugs. “She gave you a choice, babe. It’s up to you.”

He studies Danny’s face, reads his eyes. “But?”

“Maybe she’s got a point?” Danny rests his hand on his thigh, squeezes gently. “The team…” He trails off, starts again. Quieter. Softer. “We need you. But we got used to working without you. You trained them. They’re good. It’s one day a week.”

Disappointment is his first reaction: a sense of loss is close behind. Looking away, he quashes them both. “So you think I should do it?”

Danny taps him on the leg. He waits until their eyes meet. “I think you should think about it, that’s all.”

So, because it’s Danny, he thinks about it.

H50H50H50

**Three months later**

Pulling up outside his house, he puts the truck into park. Leaning his head back on the headrest, he takes a breath, gives himself a moment. Mentally, it’s been a long day.

That morning he’d spent three hours helping out at a local veterans’ group therapy meeting. He’s just driven through the rush hour traffic from Pearl Harbour after an appointment with his counsellor. This is how he spends his one day off a week now. To his surprise, he’s actually enjoying it, even though he’s tired. 

A few weeks after his meeting with the Governor, his counsellor had suggested going to the veterans’ group therapy meetings. Then, a couple of months later, he’d found himself helping with refreshments and greeting first-timers. Not long after, the group leader had asked if he’d feel confident talking to people, one-to-one.

“Me?” he’d asked, looking over his shoulder to check that Dave, the group leader, hadn’t been talking to someone else.

In his early sixties, with grey hair and a bushy beard, Dave was an ex-Marine who always sounded calm. Now was no exception. “Why not?”

“Don’t you need to be qualified?”

“I wouldn’t be asking you if you didn’t have the necessary experience, Steve.”

Unconvinced, he’d grimaced in reply.

“Look, I’ll give you pointers,” Dave had promised, “but really all you have to do is listen, let them tell you their story.”

It had taken another pep talk from Danny (are you kidding me, you’d be great at it, babe) and a few sleepless nights before he’d agreed to it.

The first meeting had been nerve-wracking. Right up until the moment he’d started talking, he hadn’t known what he was going to say. As it turned out Dave was right - it really hadn’t mattered. The veterans he meets just need someone to listen, to let them know they are being heard. The feelings they all talk about - loss, loneliness, guilt, of being a disposable faceless number - he can identify with. The struggle to adapt to civilian life, it’s something he understands. 

Not all veterans have a support network outside the military. Even fewer of them have a Danny in their lives.

Thoughts of Danny make him dig his phone out of his pocket. He’s not expecting to see anything: the team won’t contact him unless it’s an emergency. They’re busy anyway, in the middle of a difficult case. It’s a nice surprise then to find a text from Danny: just a smiley emoji and a X.

Butterflies fluttering in his stomach, he sends a green barfing emoji back. 

Adapting to the changes in his team has been harder to come to terms with. The bereaved teenager in him – still lurking under the surface despite the counselling – had treated their new-found confidence as yet another rejection. After a few weeks he’d started to adapt. Watching the Governor give Danny the credit for breaking a particularly high profile case had made him puff up his chest like a proud peacock. Lou hadn’t let him forget that moment for weeks.

Getting out of the truck his phone beeps for his attention. He doesn’t need to look to know it’s a text from Danny. Danny’s the only person he knows who’s made an art out of arguing using emojis. Chuckling to himself, he retrieves the mail from the mail box and heads inside.

Throwing his keys and the mail on the coffee table, he runs his eyes over the living and dining room. What he sees is chaos. _Planned chaos_, he reminds himself as his heartrate ticks up. _It’ll be worth it in the end._

The furniture from the dining room is missing. It’s in a storage unit in Waipahu. Most of the office furniture is gone too. The bookcase is still in there: he’s planning to move it into their bedroom. He’s still got to box up his Dad’s small models: he couldn’t bring himself to do it until last. 

_It’s temporary,_ Danny had reminded him that morning, when he’d found him staring at the models. Part of him knows its true but it still feels final. Like his history is being packaged up and being hidden away in a box.

_It’s kind of ironic, _he’d told his counsellor earlier, _I’ve been running away from my past all this time and now I’ve got a legitimate chance to hide it I’m upset._

The builders are due tomorrow. The plan is extend the house onto the lanai. They’re going to add two small bedrooms, a shower room, as well as a remodelled dining room and office space. It’ll give them the space they need for their whole family.

_The whole family._

The phrase makes him smile.

To occupy his mind during his first few days off, he’d sketched out his ideas for the remodelling. Worried it was too expensive, he’d started searching out new properties. When Danny had come home in the early hours and found him square-eyed, scrolling through over-priced properties in Oahu, worried about what to tell Mary, he’d reminded him he was an idiot, kissed him stupid, then dragged him off to bed.

The next day Danny had called Kamekona and asked him to recommend a builder.

_Don’t touch anything, _had been Danny’s last words to him that morning. _We’re paying those guys enough, let them do it. _Sighing, he turns away, following Danny’s instruction. Looking for a distraction, he heads to the kitchen to find beer instead.

Beer in hand, he heads back to the couch and fishes out his phone as he sits down. He’s guessed right: he’s got a text from Danny. This time Danny’s sent a horrified-looking emoji, a broken heart and a dagger. 

Tongue between his teeth, he scrolls through all the emojis, looking for a suitable reply. Danny’s the one in their relationship who touches, who shows affection, who litters their conversations with heartfelt _‘I love you’s’. _For all his outward confidence though, Danny still needs reassurance. And it’s not something that comes easily to him.

Huffing with frustration he scrolls back to the beginning again. He could just write a text but that’s not the game they’re playing. _ Demonstrations of affection can be quite simple things, _he can hear his counsellor saying, _you don’t have to plan them like a military operation. _Puffing out his cheeks, his finger hovers over the screen. Exhaling loudly, he chooses the heart emoji and hits send.

Almost instantly he gets a reply from Danny. It’s five heart emojis. 

Feeling pleased with himself he flops back into the cushions, starts working through the mail. Making it to the last envelope he pauses: it’s got a US Government official seal on the top right hand corner. Drawing deeply on his beer, he stares at it. 

_‘Thank you for your past and present service to our country…’_

The painful memory flares: the letter he’d received from the CIA in Washington. The grief and the anger attached to it. The sense of failure that still haunts him on the not so good days.

Shaking his head, he dislodges the memory. It’s not the same letter. This one is welcome. Despite that, his heart’s still plummeted into freefall. Downing the rest of the beer in one go he abandons the empty bottle on the table. Opening the envelope he pulls out the single sheet of paper.

Scanning it quickly he reaches the bottom, then reads it again. No surprises jump out at him. No empty platitudes from the CIA. Throwing it on the table, he stares at it.

Another memory pops into his head. A conversation with Danny a month earlier: _“Your choice, babe. No one else’s. Whatever you decide to do I’ll be right behind you.”_

_This is for your future_, he reminds himself. _Your _future. With Danny. No more marching to the beat of someone else’s drum. The thought invokes images that make his heart skip with excitement. His stomach kills the mood as it clenches with fear.

_Damn it._

H50H50H50H50

It’s late when he hears the Camaro pulling up outside. The house lights are already on. Sitting on the floor of the office, he stops what he’s doing and listens.

There’s excited barking, the muffled sound of Danny talking – laughing, exasperated – then paws and footsteps crunching across the gravel, onto the lanai – one set more measured than the other – and the front door opens.

Eddie bounds in. From his position on the floor he has no chance to defend himself. Eddie takes full advantage, licking every bit of skin he can reach. Eventually Eddie looses interest, wandering off to go find his dinner in the kitchen. As Eddie disappears from sight, he turns his attention to Danny.

Danny’s picked up the letter from the coffee table. Walking slowly across the living room, he’s reading it. Bottom lip stuck out, he scans it again. When he looks up, his expression is soft with worry. “You still okay with this?” he asks, waving the letter.

Getting up from his spot on the floor, he wipes his hands on his tee-shirt. They’re dusty from where he’s been pulling up floorboards. Sticking out his hand, he takes the letter back. He reads it again, even though he’s memorised the content: it’s confirmation that his request to retire from the Navy is being processed.

“Yeah. I’m sure.” Folding it up, he stuffs it in his back pocket. “How was your day?”

“We did stuff.” Danny sounds distracted. He’s looking past him, at the empty office space. “You’ve been busy.” Reaching out, he gently taps him on his hip. “You sure you’re okay, babe?”

Turning round, he sees what Danny is seeing. His building tools are spread out over the office floor. Some of the floorboards are up, gaps dotted across the floor in a random pattern. The books are off the bookcase, stacked haphazardly around the room, ready to be moved. Suddenly he’s reminded of the chaos in Mary’s bathroom in California. Of the big hole he dug in her back yard.

“No.” He stops, tries again. “I mean yes, I’m okay. This isn’t what you think it is, I was just…” Trailing off, he rubs at his temple with his thumb. When he’d started pulling up floorboards it had made perfect sense to him. Seeing it through Danny’s eyes, he’s not so sure.

Danny sits down on the floor, his back against the wall. Looking up, he pats the empty space beside him. “How about you talk me through it?”

_No. _He’s done talking today. But because it’s Danny - and he knows he’s right - he sits down anyway. 

Danny shuffles so they’re touching from shoulder to knee. “It’s okay to be worried. It’s a big change,” he says. Quietly. Thoughtfully. “It’s not going to be easy.”

He rubs at his temple again. Frustration is creeping in. They’ve talked about this. So many times. “I want to do it.”

Danny raises a hand, calming. “I know. But sometimes knowing you want something and seeing it written in black and white are two different things.”

He takes a steadying breath: Danny’s right, he had raised his voice. It’s complicated though. So complicated. No matter how many times they talk it through, how much he wants it, the thought of leaving the Navy still hurts. “It’s just…it gave me a home when I didn’t have one and I—”

Danny rests his hand on his knee. “I know, babe. And now?”

He can feel the warmth of Danny’s hand. He covers it with him own. “My home is here. With you.”

“You can still have both. You’re in the reserve. The chances of them recalling you are—"

“No.” 

They’ve talked about this too: late night conversations out on the beach, just the two of them sharing their secrets in the dark. He’s told Danny what his Mom said just before she died. They’ve talked about sacrifice, about service, about wanting to be needed. Leaving the Navy is going to hurt, for a while. But what he has with Danny, it’s more important. It’s time to walk away from the safety net the Navy’s always provided, to live life on life’s terms, or not at all. 

Sitting up straight, he looks Danny in the eye. “I don’t want both. I don’t want the CIA knocking on our door, blackmailing us, giving me orders. I don’t want the Navy controlling my life, taking me away from this. I want…I want a normal life. I want _you_.”

There’s a pause. Then Danny raises his eyebrows at him. “Did you just call me _normal_?”

“Danny—”

“’Cos I gotta say, if that’s what you think the rest of our lives are going to be like then you’ve got a surprise—"

His breath catches in his throat. “The rest of our lives?”

Danny stills. Studies him. “Is there a problem?”

Mutely he shakes his head. _Say something you idiot, _the voice in his head is yelling. But he can barely hear it over the sound of blood rushing in his ears.

“You’re ridiculous.”

Blinking, he drags himself out of his head. Danny’s grinning at him. Soft. Fond. There’s only one possible response to that: he kisses him. Hard.

Danny’s mouth softens under his. He tastes of coffee. Curling his hand around the nape of Danny’s neck, he deepens the kiss. Letting his hand wander, he slides his fingers over Danny’s shaved hair. He groans his approval when Danny mirrors the gesture, running his fingers through his hair, holding him in place. Over the months they’ve become more comfortable with each other, learning what works. There’s still that frisson of excitement though – heady and intoxicating - whenever they touch. It takes his breath away every time.

The sound of claws tapping on the wooden floor interrupts them. Eddie’s heading for the couch. Jumping on it, he lets out a long-suffering huff in their direction. Once he’s sure he’s got their attention, he flops down on the cushion and closes his eyes.

Laughing, they pull away from each other.

Danny runs his hands over his hair, smoothing it back. His cheeks are slightly flushed. His lips more so. Settling back, his gaze falls on the holes in the floor where the floorboards are missing. “You need help putting those back?”

Dragging his eyes away from Danny’s face - from his lips - he follows his gaze. “Sure. I’ve finished checking.”

“Checking? For what?”

Embarrassed, he rubs the end of his nose. “You’re gonna laugh at me.”

Danny tilts his head. Pretends to consider that. “Probably.”

_Fine. _“I got the letter, okay? I was thinking about the Navy and all the things we talked about. Then I started thinking about Mom and when I bought her back here, the first time. And then I remembered she hid things under this floor and—”

Danny eyes widen with understanding. “The builders are pulling this floor up tomorrow.”

“Correct.”

“Are they going to find a secret stash of AK47s?”

“Nope. Just a lot of dust and a few old coins.”

“That’s good to know.”

“I thought so.” 

“So it’s just your weapons stashed around the house I need to worry about?”

He nods. More serious this time. They’ve talked about those too: security vs risk. Adjustments have been made for Charlie and Joanie. 

Danny’s stomach rumbles, loudly, reminding them both how late it is. Unfolding his legs, he levers himself to his feet. Offering a hand to Danny, he pulls him up too. “I’m cooking. What do you want?”

“I was thinking we could order in. Pizza.”

He shakes his head. The fridge is full of healthy nutritious food. And he enjoys cooking for Danny on his day off. It’s his thing.

“You sure you don’t want pizza?” Danny’s grinning at him. Cheeky. Eyebrows raised. He’s also slowly unbuttoning his shirt, revealing his chest at an agonisingly slow pace. 

His libido catches up before his brain does. “Oh,” he breathes, “_pizza_.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Danny says, already heading for the stairs. “I’ll take a shower while you’re cleaning up.”

The lure of joining Danny in the shower is almost enough to make him skip tidying up his mess. Almost. There’s no finesse though as he puts everything back. Jamming the floorboards into the gaps as fast as he can, he’s not even sure they’re back in the right place.

Upstairs, the shower switches on. His libido and imagination kick in, in perfect synchrony. In his haste to pick up his tools he gets clumsy. A pile of books gets knocked and it goes over, taking the next pile out, like toppling dominos.

Suddenly there are books everywhere. The place is more of a mess than when he started.

_Fuck._

Danny is singing in the shower. It’s muffled, he can’t hear the lyrics. But the message is loud and clear: _get up here, Steven._

_I’m trying, _he thinks, as he gets on his hands and knees to sweep up all the books. Frantically he starts stacking them, jamming them against the wall to stop them falling again. He’s almost finished, piling the last stack, when the title of one of the books jumps out at him:

_Moby Dick._

Resting back on his heels, he picks it up. It’s old, faded, tatty around the edges. He can’t remember ever seeing it before but then again, he’s never been much of a reader. Particularly since coming back to the islands.

His heart is in his throat as he opens it. In Mexico he’d dreamt about his Mom reading Moby Dick to him. He’d assumed it was his subconscious trying to tell him something rather than a real memory. It hadn’t occurred to him that it could be both.

Some of the pages have the corners turned down. In the margins there are notes written in pencil, in his Mom’s handwriting. It’s clear it’s a much-loved book. His hand is trembling as he flicks through it, as words jump out at him. The memory of her reading it to him surfaces again:

_“Where lies the final harbor, whence we unmoor no more? In what rapt ether sails the world, of which the weariest will never weary? Where is the foundling’s father hidden? Our souls are like those orphans whose unwedded mothers die in bearing them: the secret of our paternity lies in their grave, and we must there to learn it.”_

There’s a thud from upstairs: Danny banging on the floor. It jolts him out of the memory. Slamming the book shut, he drags in air to ease his breathing. The memory had felt so real, so vivid. 

Slowly, he gets to his feet. The book is still in his hand. Part of him wants to take it upstairs, to show it to Danny. To explain the memory. To get it straight in his head.

_Not tonight_, he decides, as Danny starts singing again, rowdier this time_. _He’s found his final harbor, the place where he wants to unmoor no more. The book, the memory, will still be there in the morning. Tomorrow will be soon enough.

The End. 


End file.
